


Waking up

by illuminate



Series: cupbearer [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reincarnation, vampire!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminate/pseuds/illuminate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two possibilities; Grantaire has either stumbled over a long dead friend or he is officially losing his mind. Personally Grantaire is hoping for reincarnation, but either way Enjolras is going to be pissed when he finds out, because Grantaire is not sharing this discovery until he has looked properly into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joly

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning; this story is set in Canada, a country I have never actually been in or anywhere near. Please excuse any horrible mistakes I might make, I just randomly picked an English speaking country.

The physical is where most of Grantaire’s few strengths lie. He is decent in most sports, has mastered several different martial arts over the years - though he always falls back on boxing in any actual fight out of pure habit - and can still walk in a straight line when his blood is more alcohol than plasma. 

One of the many things Grantaire is not good at is multitasking. Which is why he nearly smashes his head into the sidewalk when someone accidentally pushes him while he is both walking and reading a mail on Enjolras’ phone at the same time. He is narrowly saved by another passerby who grabs his arm. 

God, he hates Raoul, that email had just been another picture of the French country side with a snide comment about the lovely weather. He really needs to stop trying to get a rise out of Enjolras every time he is bored. That is Grantaire’s job and he has earned the right to it through years of toil.

“You okay?” Asks the stranger

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Grantaire mutters while deleting the email, before belatedly looking up at his savior. It is a young man, who looks about Grantaire’s age (hah!). He is holding a purple umbrella and a book-heavy bag is slung across his shoulders, suggesting a student. “Thank you. You have good reflexes.” 

There is something…Grantaire doesn’t know what. The boy shows no signs of being anything but human, and whatever the feeling is it doesn’t seem malicious. Still, there is the definite sense that Grantaire is missing something and past experience has proved how important such feelings can be.

“I have a friend who is always unlucky, so I have practice.” The boy smiles at him. Then he touches the end of his umbrella to the tip of his nose while nodding farewell to Grantaire. He turns and walks away.

Huh. That seemed…

Grantaire drops the phone. 

It is like a veil has been ripped away and he can suddenly see clearly. It is like those pictures, where you are certain that you are seeing a drawing of a rabbit until you suddenly realizes it is also a duck.

That was Joly.

That was JOLY!

Grantaire scrambles to pick up the phone, giving it some scratches in the process, and runs in the direction the boy – Joly! - had gone. 

He loses the trail after one block, when he hits an intersection. Joly has been swallowed up by the mass of people. Purple umbrella, purple umbrella. But no, it had been closed, he had been using it as a walking stick. Why isn’t it raining?  
Grantaire is quite literally wringing his hands, rapidly turning around to search through the moving crowds. This is hopeless. He could just pick a direction at random, but there are three options and several side streets after that. He drags a hand through his hair and exhales harshly.

What the hell is this? Joly died – everybody died - centuries ago.

He might be losing his mind. Enjolras would not be happy if that was the case. 

Fuck.

This could just be something he has not heard about before, which is quite possible. Grantaire has spent a lot of time studying the supernatural, but that has not actually amounted to much so far. There is a lot of random supernatural shit out there and Enjolras does not like it when Grantaire is alone with anyone supernatural he has not preapproved, which has hindered Grantaire’s studies somewhat.

God. Enjolras will be very upset if Grantaire is losing his mind. Grantaire has been his glorified safety blanket for years - ever since everybody else died.

Either way. There is not much Grantaire can do on the corner of this intersection, and he has a train to catch.

***

Five hours of public transport later, Grantaire finally reaches the café that was his destination. As expected Enjolras is taking up an entire table without having bought anything. By the way the barista is glaring at him, it is clear that he has not won the staff over yet. 

It is of course only a question of time; Enjolras is a force of nature with the face of an angel. Most of the time merely watching the sunlight caress his golden curls is enough to melt the coldest of hearts. All resistance crumbles eventually, and Enjolras will become their favorite customer. Usually they end up switching exclusively to fairtrade products for his sake – even though Enjolras rarely buys anything. Worst of all is that Enjolras does not seem to have noticed this pattern, and is genuinely surprised and grateful for their helpfulness. He will reward their affection with heart melting smiles and a kiss to the back of their hand if they are lucky.

Enjolras; making the world a better place one coffee shop at a time.

But since they have clearly not reached that point yet, and it is a cloudy day, Grantaire orders coffee to placate the barista. He squeezes Enjolras’ shoulder briefly on the way so he can feel his heartbeat. It is not a vampire thing, but an Enjolras being-overly-protective thing, and it is kind of ridiculous. If Grantaire is moving around his heart must obviously still be beating, and he knows for a fact that Enjolras can hear his pulse across a crowded room. Grantaire does it anyway; Enjolras never complains about any of Grantaire’s issues, and codependency is really one that they share. Besides, Grantaire has nothing against another excuse to touch Enjolras.

“Trina thinks we’re gay.” Enjolras says when Grantaire returns with his coffee.

Wow, speaking of issues.

“Don’t you mean Katherine? Trina is the one who thinks you are asexual and I’m quietly pining.” Grantaire doesn't know the accuracy of that theory, since he doesn't dare guessing about Enjolras’ sexuality. Occasionally someone will try asking him about Enjolras' romantic life, and Grantaire will say that he has a tragic on-again off-again romance going with France. He will say that it all started in nineteenth century France with a failed revolution, and that this epic love story is why Enjolras cannot tolerate being too far away from his beloved country, but that he cannot handle staying in France for very long either. If he's drunk enough, Grantaire will say that their dear Apollo has been chasing Lady Liberty for decades, but she keeps turning into flora between his hands, and that analogy doesn't work completely, but he keeps trying it in the hope that it will eventually come out right.

When asked Grantaire never lies; it is too hard keeping track of what you have told who, especially so when you're drunk. He omits details, uses metaphors or simply tells the truth with such honesty that no one believes him. As a result, most people quickly stop asking Grantaire questions.

“Trina even offered to help me get laid. She thinks it is heartbreaking how I am just wasting away.”

“Well, she changed her mind while you were away, Katherine was ecstatic.” 

Grantaire sighs. The Peterson sisters united is a formidable foe, which means that nobody is so much as looking at Grantaire wrong until they move on from here. Enjolras keeps his face carefully neutral, but Granataire suspects that there is amusement hiding under there.

“Miss?” Grantaire calls “Do you serve Irish coffee?”

The barista shakes her head but smiles apologetically at him. He makes an overly mournful expression and clutches his heart. The barista giggles and leans forward over the counter.

“I think Matt has left a bottle of whiskey in the fridge if you’re interested in a bootleg version.” She offers in French. In French!

Grantaire really likes Canada.

“Yes, very much. You are an angel.” Grantaire answers delighted.

Enjolras audibly sighs as the barista leaves to get the whiskey. Grantaire merely smiles at him. He is always eventually outdone by Enjolras’ sheer Enjolrasness, but Grantaire can still charm with the best of them.

“You should really order something when you steal an entire table.” Grantaire says “I will have to give her a large tip to make up for you.”

“I did order something.” Enjolras says and moves some paper around to reveal a blueberry muffin. It is ridiculous how pleased of himself he looks at the reveal. Even more ridiculous is how Grantaire’s insides clench up as Enjolras pushes the muffin towards Grantaire with a proud expression. 

“A first then.” Grantaire manages and attempts to quell his stomach by swallowing half a muffin at once. “She still deserves a large tip.” He says after swallowing.

“For procuring alcohol?” Enjolras says dubiously. The barista, who has just returned to the counter, glances unimpressed at Enjolras before turning back to Grantaire’s order.

“For speaking a civilized tongue.” - and for resisting Enjolras’ face. “Don’t deny that you like it too,” Grantaire continues out loud. “It always warms the cold cockles of your heart when someone can pronounce Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité properly.”

“Indeed?” Enjolras questions, but his mouth is twitching into a slight smile. Grantaire swallows the other half of the muffin in victory and throws the paper form at Enjolras. It bounces off his cheek and lands in his open hand.

“Thank you,” He says dryly and crumbles it in his hand. “Can you check my email?”

Grantaire huffs - seriously, his laptop is sitting right next to him – but pulls out the phone anyway. Enjolras has two phones; one brick old enough to have the original version of snake, and a smartphone, which Grantaire is the keeper of since Enjolras can’t work a touchscreen.

“No mails, master.” Grantaire says. He ignores when Enjolras visibly flinches at that, and smiles distractedly at the barista as she places his coffee on the table. “Apart from Raoul being bored.” He ads and slowly runs his thumb over a scratch on the phone’s back, a result of it being dropped to the ground.

“How old are you?” Grantaire asks Enjolras after a moment of consideration.

Enjolras frowns at the sudden question. They do not talk about anything that happened before they met; Grantaire never asks about Enjolras’ Change and Enjolras does not question how Grantaire knew so much about vampires.

“About your age.” He eventually answers.

Grantaire nods slowly and drinks from his coffee.

“Why?” Enjolras asks after a few seconds of silence.

\- _Have you ever met a dead person?_ – 

No. He probably hasn’t. Enjolras had hardly lived long enough before they met for somebody to die and come back. And if he had run into anything after, he would have told Grantaire.

“No reason.” Grantaire answers.

***

Raoul was the first vampire they met who Enjolras didn’t get into a fight with, and is still one of the few vampires they are on friendly terms with. A feat achieved by having incredible diplomatic skills; he somehow managed to explain to Enjolras the finer points of what Grantaire was, without using the word 'Thrall' once.

He is also very old and one of the few supernatural creatures to actually address Grantaire by name, which makes him Grantaire’s main source of supernatural advice.

“Hello Monsieur R. How is Enjolras?” Raoul answers on the first ring. He is not nearly as beautiful as Enjolras – well, nobody really is, but Raoul makes up for it with a stunning voice. It’ deep and smooth, and he can bend and twist it in wicked ways that makes Grantaire feel utterly filthy just hearing it. It makes it completely impossible to call him in public.

“He’s fine. You have to think of something new if you want to get a reaction from him.”

“I know. It was uncreative, but I heard the La Marseillaise and you know that always makes me think of him.” He hums a few bars before dropping his voice slightly. “What can I do for you Grantaire?”

Grantaire fights down a shiver. _Absolutely filthy_.

“Today I ran into someone who died a very long time ago.” He says.

“Hm…I assume you wouldn’t call me if it was simply a ghost?” Raoul asks

“He was corporal, he didn’t recognize me and he didn’t seem anything but human.” Grantaire lists.

“To be fair, your senses are somewhat limited in that regard. But let us go with the assumption that you are right.”

“Oh joy.” Grantaire mutters

“You said he died a long time ago? Then it might be reincarnation.”

“That is a thing?” Grantaire asks stunned.

“I am not sure, I haven’t ever seen it myself. Does it fit with what you saw?”

“Maybe?” Grantaire rubs a hand over his face. ”I didn’t recognize him at first, but then I suddenly saw it and there was no doubt at all. I don’t think he even looked that much like himself, but I was sure it was him.”

Raoul hums a few more notes from La Marseillaise before replying. “It could be a mind trick then, but I think reincarnation sounds plausible. I know a guy who has mentioned it before, I’ll ask him for you. You’ll owe me a favor though, since he’s very annoying.”

“Or you could just give me his number.” Grantaire counters.

“He doesn’t do phones, as I said; annoying.” Raoul says smugly “I’ll send you a mail with what I find.”

“Could you text me instead? On this phone?” Grantaire asks trying to sound nonchalant.

“What is this? Are you keeping secrets from your _Master_?” Raoul asks delighted. As always, his voice rolls around the word Master in a particularly wicked way.

“I don’t think he will be pleased if it turns out I’m losing my mind.” Grantaire admits.

“Oh yeah, that’s a possibility too.”

“Thanks.” Grantaire sighs

“No, it’s a definite possibility, little R. I have never known a human as old as you. I’m not sure you are supposed to run around for this long.”

“I’m not completely human.”

“You are mostly human, 98% at least. And those 2 % would just wear off if he let it.”

Grantaire is not sure how to respond to that. - _He wouldn’t_ \- just sounds childish.

“Here’s hoping for reincarnation then.” He eventually settles on.

“Me too. You two are endlessly amusing.” Raoul says “I’ll write when I know something.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Grantaire mutters before ending the call. He sighs and looks around the apartment, suddenly feeling very tired. 

Enjolras has never been wasteful, but the last couple of years the apartments he chooses has become smaller and smaller. This one is no exception, barely being big enough for two people. It has one small room with an even smaller bathroom and a sad excuse for a kitchen attached as an afterthought. Most motel rooms are bigger than this. A motel room would be preferable to this, if not for the fact that vampires are territorial to some degree. Enjolras can only tolerate motels for two days before he is crawling the walls with frustration. An apartment that is paid for to the end of the month - even one the size of a post stamp – gives him the needed sense of a private space.

Grantaire is a little worried that their shrinking living space is a new acknowledgment to the people who aren’t there anymore. Enjolras is forever running around with students, as they are usually his most devoted followers, but there has never been any attempt at replacing his original co-conspirators – evidenced by how he still hangs on to Grantaire. 

But that might just be Grantaire’s issues. He spent decades painfully aware of the friends they both were missing and feeling horribly inadequate as replacement. When Enjolras seemed upset he sometimes played what-would-Combeferre-do? or what-would-Feully-do?, but his impersonations were always uncreative and flat. His Courfeyrac ended up simply flirting with people, his Joly would question whether Enjolras wore enough layers, a concern that was rather irrelevant to a vampire. 

He has thankfully abandoned the caricatures long ago, but not before he extracted one good thing from it. He does not remember who he was imitation – it could have been anyone of them; they had all been varying degrees of affectionate and tactile. Grantaire had reached out and Enjolras had immediately latched on as if touch-starved. Ever since then Grantaire has just cuddled Enjolras whenever he seems upset. It is a simple approach Grantaire can still manage while completely wasted, and he can vary it from a short squish to a clingy full body hug; whatever the situation calls for. So far, it has proved surprisingly effective on the rare occasions where Enjolras gets emotional.

Somehow, he doubts how well it will work if Enjolras finds out Grantaire is going insane.

Grantaire kicks off his pants and crawls into the bed after a brief struggle with his t-shirt. He could be losing his mind, or he could have stumbled upon a long dead friend – shit, there could be several long dead friends running around. 

Neither possibility bears thinking about. Banishing any thoughts, he curls up beneath the sheets and tries falling asleep instead.

***

He has dreams of singing and gunfire. Wine and blood – thankfully only his own, followed by screaming. Screaming and crying, defiant voices turned to sobbing and begging. Suddenly a choking silence, only broken by a heartbeat that is slowing down, bit by agonizing bit.

He must have been making noises in his sleep, because when he claws himself to half consciousness, Enjolras is there shushing him.

“It’s fine, we’re fine.” His fingers brush softly through Grantaire’s hair and over his forehead. **“Forget it for now. Go back to sleep.”**

Grantaire’s sleep is mercifully dreamless after that.

He awakens to sunlight and an empty apartment. After knocking three different things to the floor he locates the phone on the nightstand. It reveals a text from Raoul.

When he tries, Enjolras doesn’t pick up his phone. Grantaire doesn't know what Enjolras is supposed to be doing today. He does know where to look for him, though - as a rule Granatire keeps himself involved enough in Enjolras' causes to get hurt if anything goes wrong – so he could probably track him down quite easily. Instead Grantaire chickens out and leaves a message. He says he needs to check something he saw yesterday, it’ll probably take a few days, I’ll be fine, don’t start a revolution while I’m away, and so on. 

Then Grantaire once again boards a train.


	2. Jehan - Eponine - Courfeyrac

Raoul’s text reveals first of all that yes, reincarnation is most definitely a thing. More importantly though, is the information that reincarnation is all about second chances; it happens to people who were tragically separated from someone they loved, or people who died before their time. 

Raoul somehow formulates this without using several of the key words, in such a way that Grantaire is pretty sure he wouldn’t have guessed the subject if he didn’t already know. Raoul ends the text by questioning whether this was secretive enough for Grantaire’s purposes and suggest that Grantaire learns a language Enjolras doesn’t speak so it will be easier next time.

Grantaire sends back a thank you and questions whether Raoul is willing to learn Klingon with him, purely to make him shut up, before planting himself on a bench on campus near the medical department. Joly used to study medicine, and since the reincarnated Joly had also looked like a student, this seems like the place to start. There's also be the possibility of catching Combeferre here, though that is perhaps stretching his usually non-existent luck too far. People dying before their time includes all of the Amis except for Marius, but there is no rules saying they would be reincarnated at the same time or the same place. 

Still Grantaire will try optimism for once; Joly had mentioned an unlucky friend, which sounded like Bossuet. If both Joly and Bossuet are here, everybody else has to be too. Anything else would make for a much more twisted universe than even Grantaire had thought.

Nearly four hours of watching the surrounding buildings proves that optimism is just as useless as Grantaire has always suspected; the only results he gets is soreness and a twitch he can’t suppress for more than a minute at a time. He officially gives up when every rock within his reach has been kicked away. He briefly considers finding the law department instead, but this approach has clearly been given enough time for today; he is pushing the limits of how long he can sit still and do nothing while watching people who isn’t Enjolras. Perhaps if he was able to draw some of the students rushing by - there had been several with striking features or a characteristic walk - but he can’t risk missing Joly because he was sketching a random passerby. 

After consulting a map on Enjolras’ phone he abandons the bench and weaves his way through the students in search of the library. He can always retry this tactic tomorrow if other avenues prove just as ineffective. Perhaps the addition of alcohol would make his second attempt more of a success. If nothing else it would at least make it more bearable.

Grantaire locates the library without too much aimless wandering, and has just reached the entrance when the phone starts ringing. Eyeing his destination with regret, he answers the phone on the third ring and changes his course towards the little coffee shop he had spotted during his search.

“I’m fine.” Grantaire says preemptively.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Enjolras asks alarmed “Grantaire, what are you doing? Why wouldn’t you be fine?”

Grantaire sighs. That backfired quickly.

“Right now I’m walking.” He deadpans.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says, a clear warning in his voice

“And talking on the phone with you.” Grantaire continues “In a couple of minutes I’m buying coffee.” 

“Grantaire!” Enjolras growls loudly. He quiets almost immediately after, surprised by himself. “Sorry.” He says softly. 

Grantaire frowns at that. It usually takes a lot more for Enjolras to lose patience with him.

“Are you Hungry?” Grantaire asks, counting backwards in his head. But no, it’s barely been a week.

“No.” Enjolras sighs “I’m sorry. But you just got back yesterday, and know you’re gone again. It… it feels wrong. You’re usually right here, it’s a little upsetting to me that you’re not.”

“Vampire instincts are a pain in the ass, huh?” Grantaire says, aiming for dry and missing completely because of the clump of guilt suddenly lodged in the back of his throat.

“It’s not just instinct.” Enjolras says, and for a moment there is static as he moves the phone around, before he continues. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing?” he asks sounding resigned.

“I’m not sure what I am doing, Apollo, but that’s really nothing new. I can promise that I have nothing reckless planned. I’m just going to be running around a campus for a bit, then I’ll come home.” He sidesteps a giggling couple and pushes the door of the coffee shop open.

“That sounds too good to be true.” Enjolras says darkly.

“And here I thought I was the cynical one.” Grantaire answers amused as he gets in line behind a blue haired girl. 

“Just…” Enjolras mutters “Just don’t take too long. And stay in touch.”

“I’ll call at least once a day.” Grantaire promises “Have fun with the kids.”

“I won’t. Kathrine and Trina has been after me since they heard you left again.”

Grantaire can’t help laughing out loud at that. The mental image of the sisters chasing Enjolras around, while trying to get him to talk about _his feelings_ is too great.

“Poor baby” Grantaire sniggers “Say hello to them from me.”

“Yes dear.” Enjolras says and Grantaire laughs again. He’s a little proud how perfectly Enjolras delivered that. He loves the small signs that he’s been rubbing off on him.

“I’ve gotta go.” Grantaire says as he steps up to the counter. “Bye honey.”

“Bye. Stay safe.” Enjolras says before hanging up.

Grantaire stares down at the phone feeling a little dazed. It’s rather amazing that his insides feels all fluttery after just a single phone conversation – or would be, if it wasn’t so pathetic. It’s been almost two hundred years, you would think he was better at handling Enjolras by now.

“Boyfriend?” the Barista asks.

“Overprotective roommate.” Grantaire says and freezes as he looks up. He drops the phone again, this time it only falls onto the counter where it lands with a clatter. Grantaire doesn’t reach for it, he is too busy staring at the boy in front of him.

“You okay?” Jehan asks after several uncomfortable seconds.

“I…Yeah.” Grantaire says, “Coffe, please. Very dark.” He manages.

“Okay…” Jehan says slowly, looking confused at Grantaire who is still staring unabashedly at him. “Coming right up, then.”

He doesn’t look the same. His nose is different, smaller. His hair is a light brown and his eyes a lovely blend of gray and blue. Perhaps the shape of his forehead is the same, it is hard to say; he died a long time ago and even though their friends have been etched permanently into Grantaire’s mind, some points of memory is still faultily human. He has sketches hidden away somewhere in one of Enjolras' houses, but it's been a while since Grantaire looked at any of them.

He is still undoubtedly Jehan. Grantaire would recognize that hesitant smile anywhere. He wonders if he still can’t match his clothes to save his life; Grantaire can only see his chest above the counter and the t-shirt he wears bears the coffee shops logo.

“There you go.” Jehan says tentatively as he places the coffee on the counter.

“Thank you, J – John?” Grantaire says, spotting the nametag. John? “Really?” He says before he can stop himself.

“Yes?” Jeha – John – no, that’s horrible. Jehan. Definetly Jehan says. “What’s with my name?” He raises an eyebrow and leans forward on the counter, a note of steel entering his voice.

“Sorry. I don’t even – I’m having a weird day.” Grantaire says, scrambling for an excuse. He’s really really grateful there is nobody else in the coffee shop. “John is a fine name. Biblical.”

“Yes, derived from the Hebrew _Yôḥanan_ , means God is gracious. Why did you say ‘really’?”

“Nothing. I promise. I’m not – is that Aeschylus’ _Hepta epi Thēbas_?!” Grantaire asks too loudly, nearly yells really, desperate as he is. It has the intended effect. Jehan’s face lights up and he excitedly picks up the book from the espresso machine it was laying on top of.

“You know it?” He asks, a beautiful smile spreading on his face. Something inside Grantaire clenches up at the sight. It’s been decades since he last saw that smile.

“I’ve read it in Latin, I’m afraid my Greek isn’t as good as yours.” Grantaire croaks hoarsely. “I must admit I don’t remember it very well. I only read it for the sake of a friend, who was very enraptured by Aeschylus, and its many years ago now.” He looks away, painfully aware that his voice is all over the place, it cracks and catches on several of the words. He really can’t start crying here; he doesn’t know what to do with Jehan now he’s found him, but whatever it will be, suddenly breaking down in front of him won’t be a help. Gods, why didn’t he bring any alcohol?

“You sure you okay?” Jehan asks hesitantly “You seem upset. Should I call the overprotective roommate for you?”

“God, no!” Grantaire exclaims. “That would be bad – worse. Trust me, this would be even weirder with him here.”

“I don’t mind weird.” Jehan promises while smiling reassuringly.

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this much of a mess – or, not usually as obviously a mess as this. I’m behaving really strangely, I know. It’s just been – weird day, as I said.” Grantaire rambles, and finally succeeds in stopping the word vomiting by exhaling loudly and thrusting his hand forward. “I’m Grantaire, by the way. I’m really sorry about this.”

“I’m John, but you knew that.” Jehan says and shakes his hand. “Grantaire, was it? Should I mock your name now?”

“Feel free.” Grantaire says and is then interrupted by a couple of very stressed looking students entering the coffee shop. He belatedly realizes he hasn’t paid yet, and quickly throws some bills at Jehan before getting out of their way. 

Grantaire stands to the side and watches Jehan take their orders, while he clutches his coffee and wavers. Precious seconds ticks by until his indecision reaches critical mass and something like panic claws it way up his throat.

“Bye John!” he says and flees the shop. 

***

Grantaire spends a while waiting for his breathing to get back to normal. He is somewhere between crying and laughing hysterically – perhaps with a smidgen of hyperventilating thrown in. Either way, he is gasping for breath; his face hidden in his hands so he can't see the worried looks people give him when they pass the bench he has collapsed on.

He wants to call Enjolras and nearly dials him twice before stopping himself. Enjolras would want him to call, he knows. Even without the discovery of Jehan, Grantaire having a breakdown in public is something Enjolras would want to know about. But Grantaire hadn't been lying when he told Jehan that having Enjolras there would make it worse. Enjolras would handle the discovery just as well as Grantaire had, and it is Grantaire's job to take care of a highly emotional Enjolras; only this time Grantaire won't be of much use until he is finished freaking out himself.

After his breathing has settled and he has bolstered himself with some liquor courage, Grantaire eventually returns to the coffee shop. By then the sun is setting and Jehan has been replaced by a girl with very elaborate braids. Grantaire barely hesitates before stepping up to the counter beside a grumpy looking man, who is waiting for some sort of pastry to be heated.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you happen to know where I might find John?” Granatire asks. “I can't reach him on the phone.” - _because I don't have his number._

“It's a Thursday. He's probably at the bar.” She answers frowning at him.

“What bar?” Grantaire asks. It is immediately clear he has made a mistake when the girl 's expression turns cold.

“They're always at the same bar. It's weird you don't know that if you're a friend.” She says raising an eyebrow.

“I'm an old friend. This is the first time I'm visiting here.” Grantaire explains, feigning calm. Neither the girl or the man looks convinced. 

“Okay, look,” Grantaire says trying to appear as honest and innocent as possible, “If you're uncomfortable with it you shouldn't tell me, but I promise I'm not lying. Right now he's reading Aeschylus in the original Greek because he's a geek and terrifyingly good at linguistics. I can tell you any number of things about most of his obscure literary favorites. I know them because he get's very enthusiastic and it's really hard saying no to those eyes. You're welcome to test me.”

The girl studies Grantaire for several moments, her fingers tapping out a rhythm against the counter, before giving in.“Alright I believe you.” She says and grabs a napkin to write down the address. Grantaire smiles in relief, first at her bowed head and then at the man who still looks slightly dubious.

“Here.” the girl says and passes Grantaire the napkin. Elated, Grantaire catches and holds on to her hand.

“Thank you,” he says “and thank you for looking out for him.” Doing his best impression of Enjolras, he bends over and kisses the back of her hand. His attempt must be passable, because she is wearing a slight blush when he releases her hand again.

“Have a lovely evening mademoiselle, monsieur.” Grantaire says, leaving the coffee shop with a light bow and a wave to the man.

***

It takes him twenty minutes to get to the bar with public transport and when he gets there the place doesn't look like much, which makes Grantaire doubt whether he has gotten the right address. Why would students go this far out of their way to get drunk?

His worry is proven unfounded when he enters and almost immediately spots Jehan talking animatedly to the bartender, who Grantaire recognizes as Eponine. She's redheaded now, and absolutely gorgeous. She had been pretty before too, but it was tempered by starvation, dirt and the constant air of wariness she had carried around her like a cloak. Now she's completely relaxed, casually flipping her hair over her shoulder while smiling indulgently at Jehan. 

Grantaire remembers her bleeding out with a smile on her face, looking the happiest he had ever seen her, simply because she was lying in Marius' arms.

With a sinking feeling Grantaire hurriedly looks for a table to seek cover. It isn't hard as it's still early evening and the place is mostly empty. He finds a corner from which he can still see Jehan and settles in. 

He has followed people several times over the years. Mostly for Enjolras, since he cannot look inconspicuous to save his life. But this time Grantaire is finding it hard to act casual, he can't stop himself from staring fixedly at Jehan and Eponine, and has to simply rely on them not looking his way. Thankfully Jehan already seems more than a little drunk, and after a few minutes Courfeyrac appears from the bathroom, and takes a seat that blocks their view of Grantaire somewhat. This leaves Grantaire with a view to Courfeyrac's back and only the edges of Jehan and Eponine, which is just fine, as Grantaire is struggling not to have another round of laugh/crying and the less stimuli the better.

He stays like that – occasionally taking deep calming breaths – for something close to an hour, simply watching them talk and joke with each other. Courfeyrac is not drinking, but has no trouble keeping up with an increasingly drunk Jehan, who is gesturing wildly and every so often reaches out to pat or hug them, while cooing something Grantaire can only imagine is foreign poetry, because that is what Jehan used to do when he got this drunk. Eponine occasionally leaves to take orders, but always returns and only smiles fondly every time Jehan greets her return with a light kiss to whatever part of her he grabs first.

Courfeyrac is in the process of braiding Eponine's hair - Jehan seeming to give instructions from the side – when Courfeyrac's phone rings and he walks outside to answer it. He returns with a serious expression that finally makes Grantaire decide to move closer so he can hear what they are saying.

“I can get home by myself.” Jehan is telling Courfeyrac as he pushes his latest glass away from him so forcefully that it almost goes over the edge of the counter.

“You shouldn't go alone when you're this drunk.” Courfeyrac disagrees.

“Can't you just take him now?” Eponine asks while removing the pyramid Courfeyrac had been building out of empty glasses.

“I need to go pick up the car first. I don't have time for the detour.” Coyrfeyrac explains uneasily.

“What about after?” Eponine tries

“Knowing Marius, this might take all night.” Courfeyrac says, looking guiltily at Jehan, while Grantaire's mind stutters. Marius? Is that Marius? How does that even...

“Just go“ Jehan says and strokes Courfeyrac's hair “One of the others will show up. Or I'll just go myself, the moon can keep me company.”

Courfeyrac frowns at that, and is about to say something when Grantaire hears himself break in.

“I can take him.”

All three turn to him with varying degrees of surprise. Jehan's face clears after blinking a couple of times.

“Capital R!” he exclaims delighted, before one of the other two can form a response. “because your name is Grantaire.”

“You remembered.” Grantaire says and he probably shouldn't be smiling this widely when Courfeyrac and Eponine is already looking suspiciously at him, but Jehan just looks so proud of himself. “though I'm sad to say that you are not the first to think of that.”

“I figured, it's seems very obvious.” Jehan says “But I'm drunk, and it suits you.”

“You know him?” Courfeyrac interrupts.

“Yes. He's read Aeschylus, but only in Latin.”

“Ah, another geek then.” Eponine says.

“Not really.” Grantaire says and extends his hand “I'm Grantaire, or R, whatever you prefer.”

“I'm Corwin, this is Ariel and you already know John.” Courfeyrac says, pointing with his free hand while shaking Grantaire's with the other.

“You're saying you can walk John home?” Eponine says, while drying of a glass rather aggressively.

“Yeah. I can take him, even though I do not know the way.” Grantaire says, and has the pleasure of being thoroughly studied by a girl behind a counter for the second time that day.

“...Did you just quote Lord of the Rings?” Courfeyrac says and turns to Eponine. “I say we let him. You can't be a bad person if you quote Lord of the Rings that casually.”

“Wait, does that make the apartment Mordor?” Jehan asks “and me the Ring?”

“I don't think you should take the analogy that far.” Grantaire says “I would make a lousy Frodo.”

“You do have the eyes and hair for it.” Courfeyrac tells Grantaire before pressing the palm of his hand to Jehan's cheek “And you are one of a kind.” Jehan giggles at that and leans into his hand.

“Sorry, but I really need to go know. Stay safe Precious.” Courfeyrac says and kisses Jehans forehead. He turns to Eponine and smiles when she frowns at him. “Do you want a kiss too?”

“Just keep walking, pretty boy.” She answers. 

“Another time then.” Courfeyrac says and walks away giving them some hybrid between a wave and jazz hands. He pauses shortly in the door to blow Eponine a kiss before leaving completely.

“Grantaire.” Eponine calls calmly when Courfeyrac is gone, making Grantaire turn back towards her. ”No offense, but I've never seen you before. If anything happens to John, we will make you regret it.” She says serenely.

“Of course,” Grantaire answers, drowning out Jehan's indignant protests “I will guard him with my life.”

“Good.” She says, ignoring Jehan as well. “You ought to be going then.”

“Will you give me an address, or...”

“I know the way home.” Jehan interrupts grumpily “They're just worried because the neighborhood is grimy...begrimed” he frowns, looking confused.

Grantaire sends Eponine a questioning glance, who is also raising an eyebrow at the choice of word. In the end neither of them comments.

“Alright then.” Grantaire says. “It was nice meeting you, er...Ariel”

“Grantaire has a thing with names.” Jehan confides, whispering conspiratorially as he leans over the counter.

“Right, going!” Grantaire says and starts carting Jehan towards the door. After a few steps Grantaire falters and hesitates before turning back to Eponine.”I mean it though, it was nice meeting you. I'll come back some time - that is, if you don't mind. You can get to know me, or just threaten me some more; whatever you prefer.”

Eponine blinks at him a few times in surprise before answering. “I can do both. They are not mutually exclusive.” then she smiles at him for the first time. “See you, then.”

“Bye, Ari.” Jehan responds for both of them. He rambles back to give her a kiss on the cheek and then drags Grantaire out of the bar. “Mordor is on the right.“ he says before pulling Grantaire along down the street.

***

“You are surprisingly strong.” Grantaire notes amused when Jehan has finally released him almost three blocks later. Jehan merely hums in response and crouches down to stroke the cat that had distracted him. After a couple of seconds he starts cooing at it.

“Jehan,” Grantaire calls, when it becomes clear that he is not planning on stopping any time soon. “I'm supposed to be getting you home.”

“What did you call me?” Jehan asks and turns away from the cat.

Oh, shit.

“I...sorry. I must be tired.” Grantaire tries, shrugging and smiling apologetically. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Jehan? That's French right?”

“An older version of your name.” Grantaire sighs.

Jehan rights himself and frowns at Grantaire.

“You don't have to look so guilty. It's fine, really. I think I need a nickname anyway.” Jehan says and slings his arm across Grantaire's shoulders. Grantaire automatically wraps his arm around his waist and tugs him close against his side. Jehan is a little taller than Grantaire, so they fit together almost perfectly like this.

“Jehan” Jehan says, tasting the word carefully.”I like it. It's very Romantic.”

Grantaire laughs humorlessly. “Yeah.” He exhales and starts walking again, taking Jehan with him.

“I like your name too.” Jehan says “Grand R. I wonder what the R stands for? ...Rhapsody?”

Granatire snorts.

“Reluctant. Rare. Romantic?” Jehan continues.

“Really?” Grantaire asks with incredulity.

“Roses. Rainbows. Rubies.”

“Rubbish. Rotten. Revulsion.” Grantaire counters.

“Reliable. Radiant. Revolution.” Jehan says. Grantaire freezes momentarily, only to immediately snap out of it again when the sudden stop nearly makes Jehan fall.

“Red rivers.” Grantaire says and avoids Jehan's eyes as he helps him find his footing again.

“I thought you were French.” Jehans says sounding genuinely confused. He brushes some imaginary dust of his clothes and takes a step back so he can study Grantaire better.

“Realism.” Grantaire answers, smiling viciously.

“Regret?” Jehan guesses “How old are you, R?”

“Older than I look.”

“Are you sure? You have old eyes, they might fit.”

Grantaire huffs and is about to say something revealing he would regret later, when a noise makes both of them turn. It's only a guy kicking a can further up the street – accidentally, judging by the way he also jumps at the noise – but it reminds Grantaire of where they are.

“Is your apartment far away?” Grantaire asks, looking around at their surroundings. He can see how 'grimy' might fit here. The street looks downright suspicious; it is narrow, has little lighting and a lot of gray buildings with darkened windows - the guy coming towards them even has a hoodie obscuring his face.

“Five minutes.” Jehan answers. Grantaire nods and tugs Jehan back against his side before starting to walk again. Jehan comes easily, pressing back into Grantaire and wrapping his arm around his shoulder again with a contented sigh.

“Did I ruin your game?”

“No” Jehan hums and makes a thoughtful noise. “Rhytm.” He eventually says. “Rebirth.”

“Reincarnation.” Grantaire says carefully and pulls Jehan a little closer to let the hooded guy pass.

“That's not a bad thing.” Jehan laughs.

“No.” Grantaire agrees “perh...”

“Sorry?” the hooded guy interrupts from behind them. 

Grantaire spins around to face him, letting go of Jehan in the process, so he is halfway obscured by Grantaire's frame. To his surprise the guy is standing ready with a mirror, pointing it meaningfully in their direction. Grantaire catches his own reflection before he can avert his eyes, but confusingly doesn't feel anything, even though there is a definite magical vibe coming from the mirror. Behind him Jehan inhales harshly and goes unnaturally still. 

Grantaire is still staring perplexed, when the guy lowers the mirror and pulls out a very ceremonial looking knife. He mutters something that might have been the beginning of a chant, but is abruptly cut of when Grantaire launches himself at him, throwing both of them to the ground. 

The mirror falls and breaks with an odd muted crash. Grantaire can feel a backlash of magic rushing past him, but ignores it in favor of wrestling the knife out of the guys hand. He has the advantage of surprise and quickly has the guy pressed into the ground. The guy twist and kicks out beneath Grantaire, but he's neither stronger nor faster than Grantaire, who easily gets a hand free to punch him in the face. The guy makes a satisfying sound of pain and stops struggling with a curse.

Somewhere behind them Jehan whimpers before collapsing. Grantaire barely stops himself from twisting to see Jehan, but the small distraction is enough. Suddenly there is a crackle and a explosion of pain shooting up Grantaire's side and spreading while his entire body freezes. He can only pant as the guy kicks him off and scrambles to his feet, taking the pain with him. It was a taser Grantaire realizes belatedly. That's new. He struggles to right himself as well, but without much success. Echoes of pain is burning deeply beneath his skin and his muscles simultaneously feel numb and vibrating. 

He is still trying to get his feet properly underneath him when the guy takes of at a dead run, fleeing the way he came. Grantaire hesitates for a second, following him with his eyes as the guy disappears down a side street – but then Jehan whimpers again, and there really is no question of priority.

“John.” Grantaire calls stumbling over to him. Jehan is lying on the ground curled up on his side. His eyes are scrunched up tight and his hands clutch at his head. “What's wrong?”

“hurts.” Jehan groans.

“Your head?” Grantaire asks and lightly runs his hands down Jehan's side. He can 't smell any blood or sense anything magical apart from what lingers from the broken mirror, but there's no such thing as being overly cautious.

Jehan whimpers an affirmative and blinks his eyes open for a split second before scrunching them up again.

“There's too much.” He says in French. Grantaire frowns at the change, but quickly pushes it aside for later consideration, he supposes he can be grateful it isn't Greek.

“Okay” Grantaire murmurs, also switching to French. He pats Jehan's hair soothingly before carefully manhandling him into a sitting position. Jehan is not of much help, but once Grantaire gets him mostly horizontal, he manages to stay upright on his own.

“Okay”Grantaire repeats. He pries Jehan's hands away from his head while making soothing noises and places his own hands on either side of Jehan's face. “Can you open your eyes, John?”

Jehan tries shaking his head, but Grantaire holds him still with a sigh.

“I know it doesn't feel good, but I need to check your eyes to make sure you are okay.” Grantaire explains while stroking Jehan's cheek with his thumb. “Can you please open your eyes for me, John?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Jehan whimpers with a confused frown and blinks his eyes opens. It takes several seconds, but when he finally manages to focus on Grantaire some of the pain clears away. “Oh.” He exhales with relief and grabs hold of Grantaire's coat. _“Grantaire.”_

The way he says it – not that he had been pronouncing it wrong before, he was too much of a linguist for that – but the way he says it now, how it rolls of his tongue, it's vastly different from how he had been saying it before – from how everybody says his name. For decades Enjolras has been the only one who still says his name like this.

“Grantaire” Jehan repeats pleadingly. “I know you, I remember you, I....I feel like my head is going to explode.” He's clutching at Grantaire, who can only stare wonderingly. Jehan's eyes are still the wrong color, but now they are more like he remembers them; a warm familiarity shining through despite the pain Jehan is in.

“Jehan?”

“Yeah” Jehan exhales and slumps forward, his forehead landing on Grantaire's shoulder.

“Jehan.” Granatire chokes out again and desperately pulls Jehan into his lap, hugging him painfully tight. “You can't possibly imagine how much I've missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little rambling on names (feel free to ignore):  
> Usually in fanfics we just disregard the whole name issue, which I love.  
> But in this fic I didn't think I could have Grantaire stumbling over reincarnated everyone and _not_ find it weird that everybody magically had the same name. Any explanation of that gets kinda weird though, since most of their names are last names. They would have to be descended from their own immediate family or unexpected bastards (except for Marius, but then Cosette would be dating her own descendant, and that's a little creepy to me). Then there's the nicknames, and even if they were all French-Canadians I don't think I could pull them accidentally picking the same French nicknames off. (I would _love_ to read a fic where somebody explained how everybody managed to get reincarnated with the same name. If anybody does that send me a link)  
>  Making new names it is, and I'm sorry, it's awkward and I hate it too. But thankfully this is Grantaire POV so we will be sticking to the proper names as much as possible. The new names are picked either for actual reasons, because I ran out of time and needed to use the person, or for reasons only I find funny.  
> I'm sorry.


	3. Combeferre - Marius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan hugs everybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished my exams for now, so a little longer chapter than usual.

The walk back to Jehan's apartment takes awhile. Jehan's head has stopped outright hurting, but he is dazed and spends the trip leaning heavily on Grantaire. He mutters under his breath as he tries to sort out the new set of memories in his head.

“What color is my hair?” He asks into Grantaire's shoulder when they reach the building.

“A light brown right now.” Grantaire answers. “We need a key for the door.”

Jehan ponders that for several seconds before answering “I think it's in the pocket of my waistcoat.”

“You’re not wearing a waistcoat.” Grantaire responds

“Oh.” Jehan says looking down at himself. “Pants then?” he questions.

“It's an honest mistake.” Grantaire says. He fishes the keys out of Jehan's pocket for him and opens the door.

Once inside, Jehan shakes his head lightly and starts climbing the stairs without Grantaire's help. Although Grantaire had enjoyed the physical contact, it's a relief that he doesn't have to carry the extra weight up the stairs; his side is still aching from the tasing earlier.

They both make it to the third floor without incident and Jehan only hesitates for a moment before turning right. They are halfway down the hall when Jehan suddenly stumbles, but when Grantaire reaches out to help him, he simply turns and smiles excitedly.

“I speak Italian.” Jehan says with delight.

“Yes,” Grantaire answers amused “And many others. Your linguistic skills are rather awe inspiring.”

“Sei molto gentile.” Jehan says, and – Grantaire isn't sure if Jehan loses his balance or if it is intentional – but either way, Grantaire ends up with an armful of Jehan. 

“Grantaire” Jehan sighs and squeezes him with a happy sound. “You read Aeschylus for me.”

“I don't think you gave me much choice.” Grantaire points out and strokes Jehan's hair. “Do you remember which door is your apartment?”

“Yeah,” Jehan says and steps back to stand on his own again. “We're standing right in front of it.” He continues, indicating the door on their right.

Grantaire attempts to unlock the door without much success, before belatedly realizing that the door was never locked to begin with. Feeling like an idiot Grantaire reads the sign on the door, and feels some trepidation when he only recognizes one of the names.

“Do you remember your roommate? I think he's home.”

“Ray.” Jehan says with a smile and brushes past Grantaire, who hesitates on the doorstep before following him inside. The entrance goes directly into what must be the living room; a small and cluttered room. The size is actually not so bad, considering that it is a student apartment, but the problem is exaggerated by the decorating. The walls are covered with an excessive amount of shelves, mainly filled with stacks of books, occasionally interspersed with pictures, candles or other knick-knacks. The couch is too big for the room, barely fitting between the walls, and is halfway hidden beneath blankets and pillows. Grantaire immediately approves.

“Raymond.” Jehan continues while kicking of his shoes “But he's usually not...”

“John?”

To be honest Grantaire isn't even surprised anymore when he recognizes the boy coming out of a partly obscured door as Combeferre. Jehan however, has not had the same experience as Grantaire and makes a high-pitched noise of surprise before throwing himself at Combeferre. Grantaire supposes that this means Jehan hadn't been able to make the connection between his friends from his current and past life just from memory.

Combeferre, bless him, easily catches Jehan and hugs him back while sending Grantaire a questioning glance. “Something wrong?” He asks

“He's fine, just a little drunk. You must be Raymond.” Grantaire says, switching back to English and feeling a little proud how calmly he is handling himself this time. The fifth time encountering a reincarnated friend apparently does the trick.

“I...Yes. And you – Sorry, I don't believe we've met before?”

“He's Grantaire.” Jehan answers, leaning back to look searchingly at Combeferre's face, while still clutching slightly at his shirt.

“I'm an old friend.” Grantaire supplies. “Maybe we should get you to bed?” he asks Jehan pointedly.

“But, Combe- Ray.” Jehan corrects himself and glances meaningfully between Grantaire and Combeferre “He is Grantaire.” Jehan pronounces carefully, as if saying Granatire's name slowly will make Combeferre remember.

”I'm a very old friend, and not that important, really.” Grantaire hastily adds. ”I don't think you could have mentioned me before.”

“Not important? What does that even mean?” Jehan protests “Of course you are important, Grantaire.”

“I'm just saying that he doesn't know who I am. _John._ ”

Jehan makes a face and lets go of Combeferre. “That name sounds weird coming from you.” He takes a step towards Grantaire and stumbles, making both Grantaire and Combeferre jump forward to catch him. Combeferre, having the advantage of being closer, gets there first and twist Jehan around to study his eyes.

“How much did you have to drink?” Combeferre asks while frowning down at him.

“I'm fine” Jehan says, blinking at Combeferre and squinting his eyes. “You used to have reading glasses.”

“No. I've never used glasses, John.” Combeferre says, his frown deepening.

“Yeah, you did.” Jehan smiles. “You're amazing, you know that right? You realize how lost we would all be without you? Both then and now. Chaos and madness would rule if you weren't here to keep us all on track.”

“I'm sure you would all rise to the occasion in my absence, somehow” Combeferre answers, a smile smoothing away the frown. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. I'm not as drunk as you think I am.” Jehan insists and extracts himself from Combeferre's grip. “But maybe I should still go to bed,” he continues, glancing at Grantaire before walking towards another door Grantaire hadn't noticed. “You can get to know Grantaire later, he's staying for a while.” Jehan says before disappearing into what must be his room.

“Just a day or two.” Grantaire promises Combeferre before turning to follow Jehan. Combeferre halts him with a light touch to his elbow.

“You can stay as long as you want. It's no trouble.” Combeferre says with a light smile, and for a moment Grantaire's stomach twists and he wishes he could just jump Combeferre and hug him like Jehan did.

“Just call if you want any help.” Combeferre continues nodding in the direction Jehan has disappeared.

“No, it's fine.” Grantaire says. “I'm usually the horribly drunk one. I think it's my turn to take care of him.”

“R?” Jehan calls and sticks his head out of the door.

“Coming.” Grantaire answers and gives Combeferre a salute, which earns him a warmer smile, before he follows Jehan into his room.

Once inside, Jehan closes the door behind Grantaire and wraps him in a tight hug. Grantaire feels himself release tension he hadn't been aware he was holding. He laughs softly and burrows his face into the side of Jehan's neck, just enjoying the warmth of the embrace for a while.

He misses them, _has_ missed them so much. And it has not been all the time – It's been nearly two hundred years. He's not completely pathetic and there was Enjolras to take care of - He has been coping. Most of the time he has been ignoring it, but it was always there, barely buried beneath everything else he worries about. Now Jehan is hugging him and it's wonderful and he's just so glad to have found them – glad that he's not losing his mind, not yet – and he's feeling more emotional than he's been in decades.

He wants Enjolras, suddenly. Everything has been closer to the surface of his skin all day and he feels fragile, like he does when he gets nightmares. And shit, he should call Enjolras soon. This is starting to reach a point where Enjolras really needs to know what's going on.

“How's your head?” Grantaire asks while shifting his grip on Jehan so he can rub the back of his neck.

“A little messy... That feels really good.” He sighs and leans into Grantaire's hand. “Combeferre is my roommate. That must be fate, right?”

“I don't know, I haven't looked into whether fate is a thing yet.” Grantaire says “You didn't know it was Combeferre before you saw him, did you?”

“No”

“What about Corwin?” Grantaire asks

“Corwin?” Jehan moves back a little so he can frown at Grantaire.

“Think about it.” Grantaire says, still rubbing the back of his neck lightly. After a few seconds of consideration Jehan shakes his head in confusion.

“What about Corwin?” Jehan asks.

“He's Courfeyrac.” Grantaire says.

“...Oh”

Grantaire can clearly see Jehan's mind blow at the realization. He can't help laughing a little at the face he makes, but pulls Jehan back into the hug and turns the rubbing into an improvised scalp massage to make up for it.

“Of course he is...” Jehan whispers.

“And Ariel is Eponine and I think Marius is Marius.” Granatire adds.

Jehan exhales roughly and presses his head into Grantaire's shoulder

“How does the head feel?” Grataire asks, failing very badly at hiding his amusement.

“It's not any worse.” Jehan murmurs

“Good.” Granatire says and presses a kiss to the side of Jehan's head.

“Why is Marius still Marius?” Jehan wonders with a slightly hysterical edge to his voice.

“Because he's a lucky bastard.” Grantaire says. “...Why did Courfeyrac suddenly need to go, when he called earlier?”

“Courfeyrac said that Marius had gotten himself into some trouble.”

“Trouble?” Grantaire frowns. That could mean many things, most of them entirely mundane, but Grantaire has never been much of an optimist. Right now there is the weight of a knife in his coat pocket – the ornate one the hooded guy had been wielding. It had been left on the ground where Grantaire had picked it up for future examination and it had mostly been dropped from his mind until know. Trouble could mean many things, but in Grantaire's experience it generally meant violence.

“He didn't clarify.” Jehan says “It didn't seem odd. Marius has been having problems with his new girlfriend's overprotective father.”

“Cosette?” Granatire asks, momentarily distracted.

“Probably? I never met her, last time.” Jehan moves out of Grantaire's grip and looks worriedly at him.“You don't think the trouble is connected to...whatever it was that happened to us?”

Grantaire hesitates for a second, looking down and touching the knife in his pocket before replying. 

“The mirror gave you your memory back, and that could just be a side effect – there was a step two involving the knife after all - but it didn't do anything to me, which means it only works on reincarnated people.” Grantaire pauses, aware that he has just given a pretty big clue that he is not a regular human. It's too late to do anything about it now though, so he continues before Jehan can pick up on it. “He has to have a way of picking his targets then, but he clearly didn't check me first, which might be because he's already noticed that your group of friends are all reincarnated and just assumed I was one of you too.”

“If that's true he could go after anyone of us next, and…Marius had trouble.” Jehan says, realization dawning. “I'm calling Courfeyrac. And you need to explain what the hell is going on.” He says and starts digging into his pockets frantically, unearthing his phone with a relieved cry before immediately dialing.

“I don't know, Jehan. I have no idea what he might get out of stabbing reincarnated revolutionaries. I didn't even know reincarnation was a possibility until yesterday.”

“But you do know something about the...” Jehan hesitates, searching for words “...magic. The magic. In general, it seems.” He eventually settles on, before making a frustrated noise and dialing another number.

“Yeah. I have some experience in that area.” Grantaire admits quietly. “They're not picking up?”

“They are not picking up, Grantaire, why are they not picking up?”

“It might be nothing. I have the knife.” Grantaire says, ”And the mirror was broken, so whatever his plan was it's ruined. He could have a backup set of course, but these things are hard to get your hands on. Couldn't they just have gone to bed?”

“It's barely past eleven.” Jehan says in disbelief and pushes past Grantaire to walk out of the room. Grantaire follows him back to the front door, noting that Combeferre has disappeared into his room again.

“Yes, don't any of you have classes tomorrow? Early classes?” Grantaire asks while Jehan puts his shoes on.

“Only Combeferre and Patrick. The rest of us don't have anything until noon, that's-”

“Patrick?” Grantaire interrupts.

Jehan pauses halfway through the doorway, his eyes suddenly getting distant.

“...Bossuet,” Jehan says slightly dazed. “and that makes Julien Joly.”

“You can do it from memory now?” Grantaire asks. He reaches forward and pulls Jehan's hand from where it's clutching the door handle, giving it a light squeeze.

“The fact that Patrick started losing his hair at twenty-one was a good clue.” Jehan exhales, squeezing back. “And before you ask, my head is still okay.”

“Good.” Grantaire says and follows Jehan out the door.

***

To be fair, Grantaire only asks how Jehan's head feels one more time after they leave the apartment, and the only reason he keeps asking that question is that he can't think of any other way to check whether Jehan's mind has been damaged somehow. Excavating memories from a past life has to involve some serious digging into the mind, which you should always be vary of, and mirrors are notoriously ambiguous. Grantaire would probably have asked a couple of times more if it hadn't occurred to him that now would be a good time to call Enjolras.

Right.

…Maybe a text reassuring him that Grantaire is still alive will have to do. A call would definitely take longer than they have, and Jehan doesn't actually know about Enjolras yet. Grantaire has every intention of telling him, but now doesn't seem like the time, especially if he has to explain the vampire part of it.

In the end he doesn't text Enjolras either. When he pulls out the phone the glass has been so badly cracked that half the screen is missing. Huh. He hadn't noticed it getting hit, but then he had been a little distracted during his tumble to the ground with the hooded guy.

Grantaire considers the now useless phone and eventually says “I might need to borrow your phone.”

“Sure.” Jehan answers, frowning questioningly at Grantaire, before being distracted when they reach the door to Courfeyrac and Marius's apartment – which was why Granatire had waited to ask until now. He leans forward and knocks on the door before Jehan can question who Grantaire would need to talk to right now.

For several terrifying seconds nothing happens. Then there is the unmistakable sound of movement and of a door chain being removed. Both Grantaire and Jehan makes audible noises of relief when Courfeyrac appears in the doorway looking tired and slightly rumbled but otherwise completely unharmed.

“John?” He says surprised.

Jehan hugs him tightly in answer and greets him with “Why don't either of you answer your phones, you asshole? We were so worried!”

“I'm sorry.” Courfeyrac says hesitantly while patting Jehan's back. “Why were you worried?” He asks sounding confused.

“Because you didn't answer your phone!” Jehan shouts, moving out of the hug to glare at Courfeyrac – and this is were Grantaire would usually step in before the conversation devolves, but an unexpected smell is coming from the apartment.

“Hi again. Excuse me - can I just?” Grantaire says and moves around Courfeyrac to get through the doorway.

“Wha...wait!” Courfeyrac protests and grabs after Grantaire, but it barely takes a thought to twist out of that, and then he's past the tiny hallway and inside the living room.

Marius – and it is without a doubt Marius – is slumped on the couch, holding a bag of frozen peas against his eyes. He's a miserable sight, bloodied and bruised with his clothes ripped several places. It looks as if someone has used him as a chew toy.

Which is actually a definite possibility, given the smell that is coming from him.

“You're a werewolf.” Grantaire says, and if he hadn't been having such a weird day already he would probably be laughing hysterically right now. The last time Grantaire was alone with a werewolf she had tried to eat him, and there is Marius – quite obviously a werewolf – looking completely pitiful while dropping his bag of peas and straightening in shock.

“What?” Jehan says from behind him, at the same time as Courfeyrac asks: “Who are you?”

Grantaire turns halfway around to glance at him, and there is no surprise on Courfeyrac's face, just a cold suspicion, which Grantaire remembers seeing before many years ago, but never pointed at himself.

“You're not human.” Marius says with wide eyes and nostrils flaring – a new werewolf then, sniffing the air like that is a thing you quickly learn to hide if you don't want people staring at you.

“Yes I am.” Grantaire counters “I have it on good authority that I'm at least 98% human, that's more than you.”

“Grantaire.” Jehan interrupts quietly, and Grantaire ignores Marius' stunned expressions in favor of grimacing apologetically at Jehan.

“I was going to tell you.” Grantaire says.

“I know.” Jehan says softly “You kept dropping hints.”

“What are you then?” Courfeyrac demands, stepping in between them.

“Mostly human.” Grantaire answers. “I don't think you would know it from the name.”

“Try me. I can always google it.”

“He's Grantaire.” Jehan interrupts pushing past Courfeyrac to stand next to Grantaire. “That's more than enough for me right now. So drop the hostility Corwin.”

There's a moment of silence while Jehan stares Courfyrac down. After several seconds Courfeyrac looks away, looking slightly chastened. Jehan nods in satisfaction before turning to grimace at Marius “What happened to you?”

“Werewolves.” Marius answers hesitantly, glancing between the three of them.

“Did you challenge them by accident?” Grantaire guesses.

“No, I'm always careful. They just...”

“They're just bullies.” Courfeyrac supplies.

“I guess that's why you don't trust anything supernatural.” Grantaire muses. “There's nothing wrong with that.” He ads when Courfeyrac frowns at him. “That's the smartest thing actually. We're mainly a collection of homicidal assholes. As a rule you really shouldn't trust anyone.”

“Except for you.” Jehan says.

“Except for me.” Grantaire repeats dutifully. “ And Marius of course, but newborns are always wild cards. I'm Grantaire by the way, nice to meet you.” Grantaire says and holds out his hand to Marius, who shakes it after a moment’s consideration.

“Marius.” Marius says, giving Grantaire an uncertain smile and inhaling heavily.

“I don't smell human to you?” Grantaire asks slightly amused.

“It's...You do smell human, it's part of it, but it's mixed with something else.” Marius explains.

“You have a very good nose then. Everybody mistakes me for human unless they get a hint.”

“Which you are.” Courfeyrac says pointedly and crosses his arms.

“Mostly.” Grantaire answers and sits down on the couch next to Marius “How hurt are you? Anything broken?”

“Not anymore.”

Grantaire winces in sympathy. Right, werewolf, super healing. As bad as it looks now, it must have been much worse when he called Courfeyrac hours ago.

“Sorry.” He says “I'm asking because I think Jehan needs to hug you. He's hugging everyone tonight.”

“Jehan?” Marius asks, looking to Jehan.

“It's a nickname.” Jehan explains truthfully. “And I can wait until you're better.”

“A hug can't hurt.” Marius smiles “It might help actually.”

Jehan only hesitates for half a second before throwing his arms around Marius, although much more carefully than he had done with the others. Despite the care Marius exhales roughly, but still wraps his arms around Jehan in return.

“See? This is better.” Marius says

“Don't know why I didn't try that.” Courfeyrac says, uncrossing his arms to pat Marius head lightly. “All this time I have been using frozen produce when I could have been cuddling you.”

“This has happened before, the...bullying?” Jehan asks, while releasing Marius.

There's a telling silence, while Courfeyrac and Marius glances hesitantly at each other. Jehan makes a pained noise and looks disapprovingly between them.

“How could you possibly hide something like this?”

“I heal quickly.” Marius mutters, looking guiltily at the floor.

“And it's never been this bad before.” Courfeyrac ads. “Otherwise we would have done something about them sooner.”

“I can help. Whatever your plans are.” Grantaire offers. “I've got some experience with bloodthirsty monsters, and I'm a lot less breakable than you regular humans.”

“I'll help too.” Jehan says. “And everybody else. We would have helped ages ago, if you had just told us!”

“Jehan.” Grantaire says, trying to soothe him. Jehan swears loudly and Grantaire reaches for him, an automatic response to yelling that has been ingrained in him many years ago. Enjolras is cool and calm even when deadly furious; he only raises his voice when he is at the brink of losing control, when the monster is right beneath his skin. Grantaire is aware it's unnecessary here, knows that Jehan can yell until his lungs give out without risk of hurting anyone. But when Grantaire pulls Jehan goes willingly enough and ends up halfway seated in Grantaire's lap, scowling at Courfeyrac and Marius.

“Marius is being _beaten up_ by werewolves, and you didn't tell us.” Jehan continues in disbelief, although his temper is somewhat marred by his new seating and Grantaire rubbing his back soothingly.

“I'm sorry, but the _werewolf_ part made it kinda tricky.” Courfeyrac says with a note of anger.

“That doesn't matter at all. I found out minutes ago and I'm perfectly fine.” Jehan counters.

“To be fair, you were attacked by a guy with a magic mirror a few hours ago. Werewolves really aren't the weirdest revelation you've had today.” Grantaire points out.

Jehan grimaces but looks suitably chastened. “I'd forgotten” he says looking apologetically at Courfeyrac.

“Magic mirror?” Marius asks. There's more worry in his voice than Grantaire would expect from a newly turned human. They must have had troubles with more than just werewolves for that level of apprehension to have set in already.

“And a knife” Grantaire says. He struggles a moment with Jehan still in his lap, before managing to pull the knife out of his coat.

“What happened?” Courfeyrac asks.

Jehan twists to look questioningly at Grantaire, who stays quiet and pointedly nods at him. Frowning slightly, Jehan haltingly explains their run-in with the hooded guy and most of what followed, leaving out anything to do with his newly recovered memories.

“Why did you think he would have gone after us as well?” Marius asks, when Jehan is done.

“Because he seems to have picked Jehan beforehand. And since you all share some important characteristics, you might have been included in that picking.” Grantaire explains hastily and hands Marius the knife before they can question his reasoning. “Maybe you could help with this, Supernose?”

The knife has clearly not been designed with just cutting in mind; The blade is much thicker than necessary, to accommodate the intricate patterns covering it. They continue on the hilt, interlacing stones and colored strips of leather. All of which makes for an unusually heavy knife. To top of this marvel of design the whole thing is curved and ridged in a way Grantaire can't phantom any practical use for. Marius handles it carefully, only holding it to his nose for a short second before gingerly handing it back to Grantaire.

“Human. I don't know him.” He says.

“Just one guy?” Grantaire asks. He sniffs the knife shortly himself before placing it on the coffee table, rather than putting it back inside his coat. He mostly catches his own scent, but there is still some of the hooded guy beneath and a few traces of magic.

“Could be. There's blood too, it's recent but faint, like it's been washed since. If there had been someone else before that it would have washed of too.” Marius says grimacing.

“You really are very good.” Grantaire says impressed. “I can't sense that at all, and I'm good at blood.”

“Must be those measly 2 % of not-human bringing you down.” Courfeyrac says sounding resigned. He sighs loudly, rubbing his forehead. “If we go to that alley, you could probably track him from there.” He says to Marius.

Marius nods. “We should tell Maria before we do anything.” He says.

“I doubt she's home yet. But yeah, try calling her. Then we'll go.” Courfeyrac says. Marius reaches his hand out to Courfeyrac, who takes it and carefully pulls him to his feet. Marius winces upon standing, but after a few steps his movement smooths out. By the time he disappears into the kitchen there's no hint of pain in his walk.

“We're going now?” Jehan asks, standing up as well. “Isn't that something better done during sunlight? And not at... 00:27 am.”

“He pulled a magic knife on you, John.” Courfeyrac says seriously, touching Jehan's cheek lightly. “He's not getting away with that, and it's better we go before he has time to regroup.”

“And if he is just a normal human, me and Marius actually has a slight advantage during nighttime.” Grantaire ads. He pauses, waiting for Courfeyrac to comment. Courfeyrac merely shrugs at him, apparently having giving up on the question of Grantaire's humanity.

“Later.” Courfeyrac says

“Sure.” Grantaire smiles, actually looking a little forward to that, in a slightly morbid way. “Since we're calling people, maybe I could borrow your phone, Jehan?”

***

The first time Grantaire calls nobody answers, and when it's finally picked up the second time he thinks he has dialed wrong. He pulls Jehan's phone from his ear to check, but the numbers seems right.

“Hello? Anyone there?” not-Enjolras says when Grantaire puts it back to his ear. It takes him half a second more, but then it clicks.

“Liam?” Grantaire says, a little relieved to have placed the voice. “Why are you answering Enjolras' phone?”

“Grantaire!” Liam nearly yells into the phone. “Where are you? Why aren't you calling from your own phone? Do you have any idea what a horror Enjolras is when you're gone? He's grouchy, and more terrifying than usual. I think he's sulking - I didn't even know he could do that!”

“Liam, why are you answering Enjolras' phone?” Grantaire repeats patiently, leaning back against the hallway wall.

“He'd left it on the table. Brian's managed to distract him with...what did you call it? - speeching?”

Grantaire sighs resigned. If Enjolras is making speeches interrupting him isn't an option, and it'll most likely take a while before he notices he's misplaced the phone by himself.

“Why are you guys speeching in the middle of the night?” he asks.

“We can't leave. Every time anyone suggest we stop for today he looks so upset.”

“But... who is he even speeching to? It's past midnight on a Thursday – Friday now, I guess - Doesn't anyone have classes tomorrow?”

“You can't honestly believe we go to all of our classes – especially the ones early Friday. Why would you even call if you expected us all to be in bed already?”

“I called Enjolras, not you.” Grantaire points out “Enjolras doesn't sleep. He only needs to consume the shattered dreams of an evil capitalist to renew his energy. During what we perceive as night he's busy bringing light to Asia in his golden chariot.”

“Well, right now he isn't.” Liam says. “Right now some of the others are making a run for it while he's distracted - Quitters. Are you coming back soon? Tomorrow?”

“No, I don't think so.” Grantaire says, feeling guilty. “But you can try telling him that I said you should all go home.”

“Thank you. I'll tell him to call you back when there's a pause.”

“No, he can't. I broke the phone and I have a... a thing in a bit.” Grantaire admits a little pained. “He'll have to wait until I call again.”

“You want me to take a message then?” Liam offers.

“Er...” Grantaire considers. He's been stalling so far, but he can't go hunting maniacs with magic mirrors without telling Enjolras first. It's limited how much he can tell Liam, but not saying anything at all really is not an option.

“Tell him I've stumbled over a little trouble, and I've found someone he needs to come and see.”

Liam snorts. “I take it you are being vague on purpose.”

“Yes. And tell him I'm fine.” Grantaire ads, looking over his shoulder when he hears the door open. Jehan peeks out hesitantly, stepping fully into the hallway when Granatire waves at him in welcome. Jehan joins him against the wall and waits in silence while Liam repeats the message back to Grantaire. He ends the call by bidding him goodbye and good luck with his “trouble”.

“We're ready to go?” Grantaire asks Jehan and passes him his phone back.

“Just about, I think.” Jehan answers. He chews his lower lip thoughtfully before leaning closer to Grantaire's side. “So... mostly human?”

Grantaire sighs. “I really was going to tell you.”

“I know.” Jehan says “I'm not mad at you or anything. It's just… I think I need you to clarify. I know the mirror didn’t work on you, you look exactly the same and you wouldn't say how old you were.”

“A little over two-hundred years.” Grantaire whispers.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jehan says and wraps him in a tight hug.”I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine. I'm sorry nobody remembers you now, but I missed you, I promise, I missed you very much.”

“You didn't even know I existed.” Grantaire laughs, a little short of breath from how fiercely Jehan is hugging him.

“I know. I still missed you. They do too, they just don't realize it yet.”Jehan murmurs into Grantaire's hair.

“I don't mind, honestly. I still can't believe I found you here.” Grantaire admits. “That you're all here in one place, and one piece.”

“Most of us.” Jehan corrects, loosening his death-grip on Grantaire a little.

“Well, Marius has super wolf-healing now. He's going to be good as new in a couple of hours.”

“That too. But I meant the 'all in one place' part.” Jehan says, giving Grantaire a last squeeze before letting go. As he pulls back, he moves his hand to rest on top of Grantaire's chest. He presses it where Grantaire's heart is still beating stubbornly before letting it drop to his side.

“You seem happy – not just now, I mean, but in general. Before, when you were talking on the phone, before you recognized me and had a meltdown. You seemed happy then. Or content at least.” Jehan says, studying Grantaire’s face.

“...Content is probably better, but yeah, most of the time.” Grantaire says hesitantly.

Jehan nods, an odd smile spreading on his face. “I think I know who Feuilly and Bahorel are. But I can't think of anyone who could be Enjolras, which I thought was strange. He isn't exactly someone who blends in with a crowd, or someone you forget easily, but somehow I couldn’t remember anyone that might be him. I thought that was very strange. At first.”

Grantaire blinks. Jehan looks back at him smiling serenely. Waiting.

“...he's not answering his phone.” Grantaire says, at last.

“Ha!” Jehan laughs gleefully. “Mostly human?”

“No, Enjolras has always been much more than human,” Grantaire sighs “I believe I've mentioned that before, many years ago.”

Grantaire pauses and runs a hand through his hair, wondering if he can take a page from Raoul's book and do a vampire reveal without using the name. Saying names like 'vampire' or 'thrall' always gives people the wrong impressions, especially so when Enjolras and Grantaire are exceptionally bad examples of both. 

Jehan opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by Courfeyrac and Marius walking out into the hallway.

“You guys ready to go?” Marius asks while Courfeyrac locks the door.

“Yes.” Grantaire answers. Jehan looks disappointed, but nods as well. He frowns slightly as they follow Marius and Courfeyrac down the staircase, before linking his arm with Grantaire's as they leave the building.

They make their way down to the alley in silence. It's effectively broken by Jehan asking Marius about Maria, who it turns out didn't pick up her phone either. By the way Marius' face brightens at her name, Grantaire figures that she must be the girlfriend. By the way Marius happily continues talking about her, long after Jehan has stopped asking, Grantaire starts suspecting that she's also Cosette.

Courfeyrac sends Jehan an accusative look, but doesn't make any attempt at stopping Marius' monologue beyond correcting him whenever his description becomes too outlandish. By the time they reach the alley Marius has quieted down one his own, though a soft smile still remains on his face. It is replaced with something more serious when they find the right spot and he starts following the hooded guys trail.

Grantaire pauses where the broken mirror has been left on the ground. On second thought it might have been a bad idea to just leave it here, but he had been distracted at the time. He crouches over the broken pieces long enough to determine that there is no magic left in them, before picking up the largest piece and following the others.

Jehan looks questioningly at Grantaire when he catches up. Grantaire shows him the piece of broken mirror with a shrug.

“It'll be good to have at hand if we want to ask anyone about it.”

In front of them Courfeyrac twists around, walking backwards to look at them while asking “You know someone who might recognize it?”

Grantaire shrugs again and pushes the mirror into his coat pocket. “Well, not anyone here in Canada, but I know some people who might know someone nearby.”

“You know someone who might know someone?” Courfeyrac asks amused.

“Reassuring, I know.” Grantaire says “But you can't expect me to have contacts in every random country I get dragged to. I'm used to Europe; countries are much closer together there.”

“Fair enough. But if we ever go to Europe I am expecting you to be better prepared.” Courfeyrac says cheerfully. He twists back around to check on Marius who has slowed down and is inspecting the sidewalk thoughtfully. After some hesitation Marius turns left onto another street. It must be the right choice, because he speeds up again almost immediately.

They follow behind Marius in silence for something close to a mile, before Jehan seems to loose patience with the situation.

“Enjolras has been dragging you around Europe?” Jehan asks Grantaire. He makes no pretense of keeping his voice down, either having figured out that there's not much of a point with a werewolf nearby, or simply because he doesn't care.

“Yes, Europe. There's no shortage of injustices to die for around the world, but he really can't bear being too far from his beloved France. This is the furthest away we've ever been, and it's only because planes are now common enough that we could get back in less than a day.” Grantaire says, not bothering to keep his voice down either. Jehan snorts, but there's longing mixed with his amusement. 

Grantaire pats his shoulder in sympathy. He is aware that his perspective might be skewed, but he misses Enjolras like a physical ache and it's less than twelve hours since they last talked. He can't possibly imagine how it must be like to suddenly realize that it's been two centuries since you last saw Enjolras. Even if he hasn't been alive for most of those years, Grantaire is sure it must be a horrible feeling. 

“I left him a message, before, telling him to come. I'll try calling again when we're done with this.” Granatire promises “You can try talking with him if you want, but I'm not sure if he'll recognize you through a phone.” 

Jehan nods gratefully. “I can just reintroduce myself.”

“Who are you talking about?” Marius asks. He has stopped completely this time and is leaning over another piece of sidewalk. 

“Enjolras. He's...a mutual friend.” Jehan answers. But Marius seems to have been distracted by the sidewalk in the meantime.

“There are older tracks here as well.” Marius says, brushing his fingers in a line across the concrete.

“That means we're close, right?” Jehan asks, after a moment of silence.

“Yes, several tracks means he comes here often.” Courfeyrac says. “His evil lair is probably in some basement up ahead. Or his bus stop could be nearby. That happened once.” he admitted. “Not our finest moment, especially since Maria was there to witness our failure.”

“She hid her laughter very well.” Marius says, his besotted smile making a reappearance.

“Yes, Marius, she's an angel and much to good for you.” Courfeyrac sighs “but we need you to focus, or multitask at least.” He says, pointing to the ground.

Marius doesn't seem bothered by the admonishment. He gives Courfeyrac an unapologetic smile before consulting the sidewalk again and leading them on.

“He's just jealous.” Grantaire says as they take another turn.

“Only a little” Courfeyrac admits. He wraps an arm around Marius' shoulders as they continue walking and kisses him wetly on the check. Marius makes a face but doesn't push him of, which is enough encouragement for Courfeyrac to do it again before finally letting him go. “Very few people manage to find the love of their life on the first attempt. It's all very romantic.”

“We're all jealous.” Jehan says fondly “They are adorable together.”

“It almost gives me cavities.” Courfeyrac ads.

“I look forward to meeting her. If I get to?” Grantaire says, looking to Coufeyrac for an answer.

Courfeyrac makes a sweeping hand gesture, as if he is waving his earlier suspicion away. “Oh, you'll definitely meet her. She can take care of herself.”

Grantaire tilts his head, considering that response, before asking “She knows something, right? More than you, that's why you tried to call her before.”

Courfeyrac nods slowly and Marius pauses. He turns towards Grantaire, about to say something, when his eyes suddenly widens. He whips around while grabbing Courfeyrac and pulling him behind himself, in one smooth movement that seems to be a reflex. Grantaire hasn't heard or seen anything, but he is used to other people having better senses than himself and is in the process of reaching for Jehan when there's suddenly pain and all the air gets pushed from his lungs in what feels like an explosion.

His legs gives out and he has crumbled to the ground before the familiar sound of a gunshot registers.

He vaguely notices Marius taking of in what he supposes is the direction of the shooter, but wow pain. That's a little distracting. He can't breath properly. 

He presses his hand to the pulsating center of pain and yes, he's been shot in the stomach. This is distantly familiar, but at the barricade he had been out almost instantly, blessed unconsciousness, and he hasn't been shot since – stabbed and bitten and beaten and broken, yes – but never shot. That is actually an impressive streak that has just been ruined and Grantaire would care, except pain. 

Pain, pain, pain.

“...taire, Grantaire, please! It's okay. Say something, please, Grantaire!” Jehan is leaning over him, looking sick. Grantaire realizes he's probably been sitting there for a while now.

“Shit, that hurts...” Grantaire manages to gasp out. He reaches out and grabs hold of an arm. Courfeyrac. He's here too, and he is pressing a hand against the hole in Granataire's stomach. That really doesn't help with the pain, but he's aware that it's the smart thing to do. Loosing blood isn't good if Enjolras isn't here.

They are talking some more and Grantaire should listen, but he's becoming aware of a burning that isn't connected to the pain. A burning in his stomach that's spreading through his veins, his skin is itching, his head is pounding – that could be the gunshot, but he knows this sensation. This isn't normal, this doesn't usually happen when he gets hurt. He can feel Coufeyrac and Jehan's hearts beat, the rushing of blood right next to him, _right there_ if he just reaches out.

“...the hospital? I can't...”

“No!” Grantaire says “No hospital!”

They start to protest, but Grantaire doesn't let them finish, feeling his grip slipping – whether on control or consciousness he can't tell right now. He grabs someone - Jehan - and pulls them down with whatever pieces of strength he can find. And now there's blood right there, impossibly close to his mouth if he _just_...

“I'm only part human.” He growls, a deeper layer in his voice that he can't reach normally. Jehan's eyes widen and he pulls back as soon as Grantaire lets him go. He stares at Grantaire's eyes with barely hidden shock. Grantaire can't blame him. He has seen how Enjolras' eyes change color when he is like this and recognizes how terrifying the sight must be to anyone with a smidgeon of self preservation.

“No hospital.” Grantaire gasps.

“Mostly human. You are mostly human.” Marius corrects. Grantaire belatedly spots him behind Jehan. When did he come back? 

“No hospitals.” Marius promises.

“Thank you.” Grantaire sighs in relief, before loosing consciousness.


	4. Cosette

Grantaire knows that he isn't going to die from this. Enjolras won't let him.

Long ago, Grantaire traded his life to stop Enjolras' martyrdom and Enjolras, unwilling to be left alone, returned the favor by giving Grantaire his blood. Grantaire has been tied to Enjolras through with blood, and although it was unknowingly done, Enjolras has maintained that bond ever since. 

However much he doesn't like the terms Enjolras is still the Master and Grantaire is the Thrall. This means that if Enjolras doesn't want Grantaire to go, Grantaire's body will go above and beyond to obey. And Enjolras definitely wants him to stay – he wants him to stay so much that he has subconsciously kept Grantaire's body from aging ever since the barricade. That is one of Raoul's theories anyway, one of the few that Enjolras is inclined to consider.

The point is that even though a gut shot is bad, and the bullet must have been something special to bring out the vampire in Grantaire, this isn't going to be enough to kill him. Not once you account for Enjolras. At the barricade Grantaire had been shot four times; one in the stomach, three in the chest. His heart had barely been beating when Enjolras woke. Grantaire had been completely human then, there had been no magical connections and Enjolras had still manged to revive him through sheer force of will.

Grantaire doesn't remember this of course. He only knows because Enjolras told him once, when Grantaire was bleeding out on a cold basement floor in Germany. A girl had been leaning over him, trying to keep his insides inside, while Enjolras had cradled his head and whispered this memory into his ear amid bits and pieces of nonsense – growling at Grantaire in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to _die_. 

Grantaire is pretty sure that he died at the barricade. He has no memories of dying or any kind of afterlife, but it is a quiet certainty sitting in his mind. Sometimes his nightmares includes the sound of a familiar heartbeat gradually slowing down before stopping completely. It is not impossible, he thinks. There is no doubt in his mind that if Enjolras asked, his soul would gladly abandon whatever eternal resting place he had been granted and find some way to return to it's cold, discarded body.

Right now though – for the first time - Enjolras _isn't here_ and everything hurts.

There is a chaos around him, people yelling and things being thrown to the ground. They move him around and prod at him, poking insistently at his wound, and don't they understand how excruciating that feels?

“I know, Sweetheart, I know.” Jehan says, sounding heartbroken. Grantaire immediately feels guilty and tries to tell him that it's fine, he has survived much worse than this, but he must be losing time because Jehan is gone when he manages to crack his eyes open. 

It's okay though, because Joly is there and that's a real relief. Grantaire had been looking for him, he remembers distantly. That's why he came here. There are others in the room as well that he can't place, but he knows them. He's safe here. He loves them.

Something especially painful happens in his stomach and his vision slips away. He loves them, he really do, but what he wants more than anything right now is for Enjolras to be here. Enjolras has always been there when he gets hurt, but for some reason he isn't right now and Grantaire can't understand why. He should be, shouldn't he?

Grantaire lets go of what little grip he has on his senses – they are no use, there's nothing in the air but the thick cloying smell of his own blood - and he doesn't need them to sense Enjolras anyway. If he's near and Grantaire tries, he can always feel Enjolras presence as a slight tingling in the back of his mind. It's the same spot where his orders go in; Grantaire rationalizes that it must be the main point of whatever mind magic that ties him to Enjolras. He burrows there now, digging after any stray sunlight that might be slipping through the connection. He doesn't know if he succeeds or merely looses consciousness, but the pain disappears and he drifts off then.

When he resurfaces the pain has dimmed considerably and Jehan is there again. He's leaning by Grantaire's head and whispering something in French into Grantaire's ear. After two stanzas Grantaire recognizes it as an old drinking song, the one so lewd that Courfeyrac wouldn't let them sing it when Gavroche was around.

Grantaire turns his head towards Jehan and ends up brushing Jehan's cheek with his nose. Jehan immediately stops singing and says something Grantaire can't make out properly.

“'m fine.” Grantaire murmurs in answer. Jehan sighs roughly before whispering something back and pressing a kiss to Grantaire's forehead. “Love you.” Grantaire slurs as he slips away again.

Some time later he wakes to something cold and wet touching his forehead. He might still be dreaming, Grantaire realizes. His head certainly feels fuzzy enough for it and this looks alarmingly like a cliché.

“Are you wiping my fevered brow?” Grantaire asks, dazedly blinking his eyes open.

The girl stills her movement and looks up to meet his eyes. It takes Grantaire a moment to place her, but if that is caused by the blood loss or the fact that he only saw her once from a distance he can't possibly say.

“No.” Cosette answers. “I was washing of the blood.” she says as she lifts the wet rag to show him. The fabric is stained dark pink. “But perhaps this much blood isn't unusual to you.” she continues, running the rag over his jaw before dropping it into a bowl with finality.

“Perhaps.” Grantaire agrees slowly. She apparently knows that he's not human, but Grantaire can't remember if this is a good or bad thing. “You must be Maria.”

Cosette nods shortly, looking down at where a bandage covers Grantaire's stomach. She touches it very carefully, her touch light enough that Grantaire doesn't feel it beyond the heat radiating from her skin. He's very cold, he belatedly realizes.

“I'll go wake Julien.” Cosette says and takes a step back

“Wait.” Grantaire says, reaching out with a shaky hand – or trying to and failing. There's something in his arm that hurts when he tries to move it... Cosette comes back and takes his hand between hers. They feel so warm compared to Grantaire's. 

“God, you're nice.” Grantaire murmurs without meaning to. She smiles at him, proving that Marius had been right about how lovely it looked - although Grantaire is pretty sure the floating lights surrounding her must be caused by the blood loss. 

“Thank you.” she says. “But I have to go get Julien, he wanted to know as soon as anything changed.”

“I think I'll just fall asleep again if you leave.” Grantaire murmurs “Please let him sleep, college students don't get enough sleep as it is – especially on Fridays.” 

Cosette starts shaking her head, but Grantaire stops her by tapping awkwardly at her hand, since squeezing doesn't seem to be working properly.

“No, I'll be perfectly fine. This won't kill me. You know that.” Doesn't she? She knows something, more than Courfeyrac and Marius. But then Grantaire's healing has always been better than it should. He can't remember if a normal Thrall would be as sure to survive this as he is.

“Yes, I guess I do.” Cosette agrees softly. “But you should sleep some more then.”

Grantaire tries to shake his head, but some of his muscles don't seem to be cooperating.

“I need to make a call.” he says. “Can I...”

“No. Sleep. You can call later.” Cosette interrupts “It'll help and I won't feel bad about not waking Julien.”

“Just...” Grantaire slurs, and tries gesturing with his hand, but is stopped by another tug of pain. “...there's a needle in my arm?” 

Cosette shushes him. She moves to sit on the edge of the bed and pushes his eyes closed with a gentle hand. Grantaire tries, but can't open them again on his own.

“It's saline. Get some sleep” she whispers and starts humming softly under her breath – unnecessarily, since Grantaire is already drifting off.

The next time Grantaire wakes his head feels incredibly heavy, but at least the fuzzy quality has left his thoughts. There is sunlight hitting his face. He keeps his eyes shut for a couple of seconds, taking stock of his body and enjoying the clarity that has returned to his mind. 

His stomach still hurts of course, but the pain is manageable now, a steadfast ache he can push aside. He's still cold all over except for a low burn of Hunger. It's thankfully not like the sudden flood from before, but more of a constant press of low Hunger. It's the same that he usually gets when he has lost a lot of blood. A little reminder why he has survived more than a regular human should. Grantaire inhales slowly, smelling antiseptics and sweat - but more than anything else the scent of his own blood - before firmly pushing that burn aside as well.

When he opens his eyes Grantaire barely recognizes the room. He must have been more out of it than he had realized when he woke earlier. This time his eyes immediately catches on a purple umbrella balanced hazardously on a pile of textbooks lying on a chair. Joly, Grantaire thinks with a smile.

“You have perfect timing.” Cosette says from the doorway. “Julien just left to get supplies. One could almost think you didn't want him to look you over.”

“No, I love Julien.” Grantaire says. With a clear mind Cosette still looks just as beautiful, but the floating lights are thankfully gone. Grantaire gestures weakly in the direction of the IV drip that's still connected to his arm “I take it he's my primary physician, so I probably owe him my life."

“I'm not so sure.” Cosette says and takes a seat on an office chair that has been placed next to the bed. “He's on third year of med school. He did his best but he isn't exactly qualified to treat bullet wounds in his apartment. I suspect that most of it is your own resilience.” 

Cosette touches his forehead and frowns. She digs around on the cluttered nightstand for a while before pulling out a thermometer.

“Open.” she orders.

Grantaire obediently lets her drop the thermometer in his mouth and tries not to move his tongue too much while it works. When it beeps, Cosette takes it back and reads it with an unhappy expression. She'd make a very bad poker player, Grantaire thinks, but then again she doesn't need to be. She's such a sweet thing that she could probably persuade people to give her their money by simply fluttering her eyelids and smiling. Enjolras could do that too if he wanted, only he would do it by being terrifyingly beautiful – or beautifully terrifying, depending on the day.

“You've got a fever.” Cosette says.

Grantaire hums in reply, expecting as much. The fever can't be that bad yet though, since his mind still feels rational enough. “Not to worry. My resilience will probably fix that soon.”

Cosette just frowns at him, letting silence fall for several minutes while she studies him quietly. It's not unpleasant; Granatire is starting to doze off a little when she finally does speak.

“You're a Thrall.” She pronounces, but with a note of hesitance Grantaire hadn't been expecting.

“You're not sure?” Grantaire asks, blinking his eyes open.

“I've never met one before, and you don't seem to act like one should.” Cosette admits hesitantly “But I'm pretty sure. It fits what Corwin saw and you do have the marks.” She reaches a hand out and lightly touches both of Grantaire's bite marks; first the old one on his throat that hasn't faded completely away yet, and then the one over his collarbone where Enjolras has been biting ever since cravats went out of fashion.

“Word of advice,” Grantaire says mildly “Enjolras won't mind you doing it, but as a rule you shouldn't touch somebody's mark directly, unless you're picking a fight.”

“Oh.” Cosette says, widening her eyes.

“It's fine, it's just a weird rule they all follow on instinct.” It was stupid, to be honest. Grantaire remembered a werewolf making an effort not to touch his throat, while she was trying to _claw his chest open_.

Cosette looks thoughtfully at Grantaire and straightens slowly in her chair “Enjolras, is it then?” she asks “I thought it might be. John mentioned him as well.”

Grantaire frowns back at her, inspecting her now perfectly straight posture. Her tone has changed slightly as well, sounding more formal, creating a distance.

“You have nothing to fear from Enjolras. None of you.” Grantaire says, guessing at the problem. “It's quite the opposite, I promise.”

“That's nice.” Cosette says and deliberately catches Grantaire's eyes before continuing. “But I don't know how far I can trust you on that, considering.” She grimaces slightly and looks away. “Sorry.”

“It's a fair point, I guess.” Grantaire sighs. “Ask John then.”

“Yes, you are all old friends, I hear. Were you human, back then?”

“I was.” Grantaire says carefully. “Did you tell him what we are?”

“I told them, but I didn't explain what 'Thrall' meant.” Cosette pauses to smile softly. “Corwin won't get much out of googling that, but I didn't have the time. You were bleeding all over Julien's apartment.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Grantaire says and looks down at his stomach. The bandage has brown spots of dried blood; some are small pin pricks where he has bleed through and some are bloodied fingerprints left from whoever wrapped it. He cautiously touches where the edge of it meets his skin. 

“Julien is getting more gauze.” Cosette says, brushing his hand away. “You know, you could have let them take you to the hospital. Whatever that bullet did, you seemed completely human by the time you got here.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Grantaire murmurs distractedly, something tugging at the back of his mind. “Can I make that call now?” He asks after a moments thought.

“Of course.” Cosette says. She studies his face for a second before standing. “I'll get you a phone.”

Grantaire nods as she leaves the room, already wondering what to tell Enjolras. 

'I have some good news, and some bad news' – no. Grantaire sighs and rubs his forehead with his IV-free hand. If he starts with his brand new bullet hole, he doesn't think Enjolras will ever let him move on to Jehan. On the other hand, if he does it chronologically he's pretty sure Enjolras will think that Grantaire was trying to hide being shot by distracting him with everything else.

There's the sound of impatient knocking on what Grantaire assumes is the front door. As he hears Cosette move to answer it, he realizes with some relief that this gives him a few seconds more to plan.

He could wait until Jehan was here and just put him on the phone, but that depends on Enjolras recognizing Jehan through the phone, which Grantaire really doubts would work. Besides, Grantaire honestly can't put of making that call. Judging by the sunlight coming through the window it's afternoon by now, which means Enjolras has been waiting more than half a day for Grantaire to call back.

Wow, he's going to be pissed. Being shot is not a good excuse for making Enjolras worry. Being shot is actually the worst excuse Grantaire could possibly have for making Enjolras worry.

He sighs again and tries casting his mind around for any random inspiration. He distantly hears Cosette open the door at the same time as he stumbles over a familiar tingling in the back of his mind.

There's a cutoff yell of surprise from Cosette, closely followed by the smash of a door forcefully hitting a wall.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire calls exasperated. He moves to sit up, but that proves to be much too ambitious when he is immediately hit by a sledgehammer of pain and his vision blacks out. He drops back down into his pillow with a gasp. 

Being horizontal again helps; his vision returns in time to see Enjolras rushing through the door. Grantaire recognizes this as a half-savage Enjolras. Nostrils flaring, clothes in a special enjolrasian disarray, where some of the clothes is buttoned crookedly and everything else is left open, and his normally angelic curls now an unfairly attractive mess. He looks magnificent as always, the sun hits him and he is a god descended; ordained deliverer of Lady Liberty's divine fury.

“You've been shot.” Enjolras says with a brittle mix of disbelief and anger. He's at Grantaire's side in two steps, using one hand to crush Grantaire's, while the other brushes over Grantaire's pulse and then moves up to cup his cheek. “You were gone for one day -”

“Sorry, I'm sorry -” Grantaire interrupts, because with Enjolras like this he will never get a word in otherwise.

“- and then you got shot. -” Enjolras continues, speaking over Grantaire.

“- It's fine, I promise. You're here now, I'm -”

“ - never going _anywhere_ without me again. You got shot - “

“I was gonna call you. I tried calling you and you didn't - “

“ - and I _felt_ it. You got shot and _I could feel it_ , Grantaire!” Enjolras says, cutting through. “I felt you being shot. I've never done that before. When you get – I've never felt it before.”

Grantaire gapes up at Enjolras for several seconds before saying “That's...new.”

Enjolras is directly connected to Grantaire's mind, but as far as Grantaire understood it, the only purpose of that connection is to deliver orders. It is supposed to be one-way communication, Enjolras had never gotten anything from Grantaire before.

“The bullet was something vampire-repellent.” Cosette says from the doorway, in English but proving that she can at least understand French. “That might...be it.” She continues hesitantly when Enjolras turns and glares at her.

“You okay?” Grantaire asks Cosette and tightens his grip on Enjolras' hand to keep him where he is. Enjolras won't hurt her, but he can be downright terrifying when he advances on someone. Grantaire gives Cosette a reassuring smile which she returns with some relief.

“He only pushed me into the wall.” Cosette says

“Apollo” Grantaire says – trying not to sound fond and failing spectacularly - and tugs at Enjolras hand to make him look back at Grantaire. “This is Maria. You should apologize. She helped patch me up.”

Enjolras glances at Grantaire's bandaged stomach with a pained expression before turning around to face Cosette again.

“You have my gratitude, Mademoiselle. You have done much more for me than I can possibly repay.” Enjolras says, his voice slightly stilted but with complete sincerity. He presses his free hand to his chest and inclines his head forward in a slight bow.

Cosette blushes. Grantaire can sympathize; it is not just that Enjolras is good looking. From what he has seen of the Amis in this life, Grantaire is still the odd one out in that department. Good looks Cosette might be used to, but Enjolras has an air of dignity and barely hidden power that makes the gesture seem overwhelming. His half open shirt and the way his hair glows golden in the sunlight is just icing on top of that.

“I'm sorry I...pushed you” Enjolras continues “but your apartment reeks of werewolf and his blood.”

“Her boyfriend is a werewolf.” Grantaire explains and just barely refrains from mentioning how much Enjolras will love this particular werewolf. He reaches out and start adjusting Enjolras' buttons instead. His effort is somewhat hindered by the IV and fact that his arms feels surprisingly heavy.

Enjolras moves closer to ease Grantaire's re-buttoning before glancing at Cosette with a raised eyebrow.

“No, it's a different one she smells of.” Enjolras says.

“It's two of you?” Grantaire asks surprised, before remembering who this room belongs to and making a qualified guess as to who also lives in the apartment. “Patrick is a werewolf? Why didn't Marius or Corwin say anything?”

“It wasn't their secret to tell.” Cosette says calmly.

“It's not as if he would mind.” Grantaire says slightly exasperated. He doesn't think he would have done anything differently yesterday if he had known Bossuet was also a werewolf, but it still would have been nice to know that there was a possible back-up.

“How do you even know Patrick? He didn't recognize you last night.” Cosette asks.

“Er...” Grantaire hesitates, scrambling for an explanation. “From John.” He tries and is then thankfully interrupted by a yell from the front door.

“Maria! Why is the door open?” Joly calls. 

“We've got a guest.” Cosette answers. Grantaire hears Joly close and lock the door, before dropping a bag on the floor and walking toward the bedrooms. 

“Well, I know that...” Joly says

It occurs to Grantaire that while Enjolras has never seen Cosette before, Joly is another matter entirely. Grantaire belatedly shoots his hand out, but Enjolras has already moved out of Grantaire's reach in anticipation of the new arrival.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire hisses, making Enjolras look questioningly back at him just as Joly walks into the room.

“Oh, you meant another guest.” Joly says and hides his surprise at seeing Enjolras with a polite smile. “Hello.”

Enjolras opens his mouth but then he seems to take Joly in and no sound comes out. His body stiffens gradually, going from very still to marble statue in a few seconds.

Joly frowns in confusion and turns to Cossette for help, who looks just as surprised by the new development.

“What...” Enjolras chokes out in French.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire hisses again. He manages to twist a little sideways, earning him a sharp stab of pain and darkening at the edge of his vision, but also increasing his reach enough to brush the tips of Enjolras' fingers.

The touch breaks Enjolras' stillness. He latches on to Grantaire's hand and spins around to face him.

“What did you do?” He gasps.

“Nothing. It was pure luck.” Grantaire whispers. “I just...stumbled over them.”

Enjolras makes an unintelligible noise and his face starts crumbling.

“Can you give us a moment?” Grantaire asks Cosette and Joly. When they both hesitate he deliberately catches Cosette's eyes. “It's nothing bad, I promise.” _Trust me_.

Cosette gives a miniscule nod. “Alright.”

“Wait, I have to check ...” Joly protests. 

Cosette shakes her head and drags him from the room “It can wait a minute.”

Enjolras' hand is shaking so Grantaire pulls him down before the door has closed behind Joly and Cosette. Enjolras buries his face in Grantaire's neck and takes several deep breaths.

“You stumbled over them.” He says a little desperately into Grantaire's neck.

“They don't remember, but they're all here.” Grantaire says and tangles a hand in Enjolras' hair, because he is allowed to now, for the sake of comforting. “They're all here and they're okay.”

Grantaire feels Enjolras relax a little against him as he exhales unsteadily. Enjolras doesn't say anything, but seems content to stay like that for now. He shifts a little closer to Grantaire, inadvertently jostling Grantaire's stomach in the process. The sudden burst of pain is actually something of a relief to Grantaire; he was perhaps beginning to enjoy the closeness too much. It won't do to be distracted by how Enjolras' breath is ghosting over his skin when Grantaire is supposed to be calming him.

Grantaire slowly starts up a litany of rambled reassurances; whispering repeatedly that they are all okay. That they look a little different and have the wrong names, but it is most definitely them. He mentions Jehan and Aeschylus, Joly and his umbrella. He muses that the werewolves are not necessarily a bad thing, since it makes them more resilient, and Marius really is the most adorable werewolf Grantaire has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“Marius?” Enjolras says in a small voice and pulls back enough to lift his head.

“Yeah.” Grantaire says, smiling as he removes his hand from Enjolras' hair with some reluctance. ”That was Madame la Baronne you just pushed into a wall by the way. I'm not sure if Marius will ever forgive you.”

“I didn't – from what I caught on her ...he smells differently.” Enjolras says with a frown and sits up properly.

“Because he's a werewolf? Or...in general?”

Enjolras shakes his head ”Joly too.”

“I guess it makes sense for it to change with the body.” Grantaire says, after a moments thought.

Enjolras makes an unhappy sound of agreement and looks away. His eyes fall on Grantaire's bandaged stomach and he sighs heavily. 

“And did the werewolves happen to have anything to do with you being shot with a vampire-repellent bullet?” Enjolras asks quietly.

“No...or, they were present, but the shooting didn't have anything to do with werewolves.” Grantaire says. “Look, do you want me to tell the relevant plot points or do you want the long, chronological story?”

“I want you to tell me everything.” Enjolras says. “But first we..” He stops abruptly and turns to look at the door. Grantaire follows his example, and sure enough, half a second later there's a knock on the door followed by Joly entering without waiting for a response.

“Oh good, you're better.” Joly says when he sees Enjolras. “I really need to look over Grantaire. It won't take long and you can keep talking for most of it.”

“No. You will have to wait. I'll call when we're done.” Enjolras says with firm authority that brook no argument. 

Grantaire feels an immense sense of relief as Enjolras calmly expels Joly from the room. Not that Grantaire would mind Joly checking his wound, but this is Enjolras taking charge of the situation and the world just feels more right when his Apollo is leading. Grantaire is capable of taking care of both of them if the situation calls for it, but everything works better when Enjolras is the one driving the car and Grantaire can sit in the back and heckle.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Enjolras asks, once Joly has reluctantly left them again.

“My stomach gets all fluttery when you take control.” Grantaire smirks. It earns him an exasperated sound from Enjolras, which fails spectacularly at hiding a relieved smile. Grantaire is not the only one who prefers this distribution of tasks.

“You could have asked if he spoke French.” Grantaire says “If he doesn't, he could have stayed without hearing anything he shouldn't.”

“Yes, but I don't think he would approve of this.” Enjolras says and carefully pulls the IV needle out of Grantaire's arm. “It would be far too unhygienic for him.” Enjolras continues, before pulling up his own sleeve and biting into his wrist.

“I thought I was telling you everything.” Grantaire says.

“You are, but this first.” Enjolras says and licks some blood away from the corner of his mouth. He moves to sit next to Grantaire with his back against the headboard, before pressing his bleeding wrist to Grantaire's mouth.

Grantaire obediently opens his mouth and swallows a mouthful. Enjolras' blood tastes vaguely of ozone and feels electric as it runs down Grantaire's throat; tingling and sparking in small bursts that burns hot and cold at the same time. After the second mouthful a languid haze starts creeping over Grantaire. His body goes completely limb as heat spreads along his spine, and his mind quiets down until there is nothing but swallowing and a vague sensation of sparks gathering around his wound. When it starts to feel like his spine is melting, Grantaire clumsily manages to twist his head away from Enjolras' wrist.

“Enough.” Grantaire gasps.

Enjolras brushes his fingers over Grantaire's cheek while he studies his face. Grantaire's skin tingles pleasantly under the light touch.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras questions.

“Yes.” Grantaire says and shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. “That was...more than enough.”

After some careful inspection Enjolras seems to accept this. He rearranges Grantaire; pulling him up so he is leaning against both the headboard and Enjolras. The blood still clouds Grantaire's head enough that he doesn't feel any pain – he barely feels anything actually, beyond the electric tingling where Enjolras touches his skin.

“Okay.” Enjolras says satisfied. “Now you tell me.”


	5. Bahorel

After Grantaire has recounted what has happened to him - starting with Joly and ending with Enjolras assaulting Cosette - Enjolras makes him go back to sleep. Grantaire tries pointing out that he has already slept a great deal recently, and that they really have kept Joly waiting for too long, but unsurprisingly, Enjolras rather quickly ends up getting his way. Giving Enjolras whatever he wants is one of Grantaire's more prominent character flaws. And when it comes down to it, healing takes energy and Grantaire does feel tired.

He wakes to voices speaking softly above him and a familiar hand toying with his hair. Grantaire's head has been moved to Enjolras' lap while he slept, giving his still sleepy brain the dilemma of whether to move away immediately or to feign sleep so he can stay a little while longer. Enjolras settles it for him by instantly noticing that he is awake.

“Feel better?” Enjolras asks and moves his hand down to cup the back of Grantaire's neck.

Grantaire rolls himself out of Enjolras' lap and sits up with a tired groan, ignoring a throb of pain at the sudden movement. Joly, who is sitting next to the bed - and holding on to one of Enjolras' hands for some reason - protest loudly in surprise. It takes Grantaire a moment to realize that it is him sitting up that Joly is having a problem with.

“It's fine, I'm fine. See?” Grantaire says and pokes his bandage to prove his point – which actually hurts, since the wound really isn't gone yet.

“Here.” Enjolras says and takes his hand back from Joly to start unwinding Grantaire's bandage. “You can look him over now.”

Grantaire hasn't had a chance to see the wound before, so he can't say exactly how much it has improved. It does feels better and he can sit up on his own with only a slight throbbing of pain. He suspects that Enjolras' blood had focused on the interior damage over the broken skin, but when the bandage comes of it does look like there is new skin around some of the stitches. Judging from Joly's expression though, this is a vast improvement from the last time he saw it.

“Okay, I see your point.” Joly says to Enjolras. He starts poking at Grantaire's stomach in what seems like a systematic fashion, which doesn't make it less painful.

“But this really doesn't make any sense.” Joly continues and thankfully stops the poking to flatten his hand over Grantaire's stomach instead.

“Magic.” Grantaire says, aiming for dry and hitting out of breath instead.

“No, I get that. But if his blood speeds up healing, how come his wrist is still bleeding?” Joly says, making an exasperated gesture towards Enjolras, who helpfully lifts up a bandaged wrist for inspection.

“Magic.” Grantaire repeats and makes jazz hands. This is apparently more than Joly's scientific sensibilities can handle, and he simply looks between Grantaire and Enjolras in numb disbelief . Grantaire quickly takes pity on him. 

“Alright. It's because Enjolras cheats.” Grantaire explains. “Blood magic is something for something, but Enjolras pushes the healing further than just the blood would allow, so his own healing stops for a while in exchange.”

“I don't see how that is cheating.” Enjolras says. “Since I give something in return.”

“Because according to Raoul nobody else can do that.”

“I think it's more that they've never really wanted to.” Enjolras says. “Are you done?” He then asks Joly and removes Joly's hand, which had been left resting on Grantaire's stomach. “Maybe we could get you a shirt.”

The t-shirt Grantaire had been wearing is unsurprisingly a lost cause. Bleeding all over your clothes will do that. Instead, Joly procures a clean t-shirt that fits Grantaire well enough and which belongs to Bossuet judging by the scent of werewolf clinging to it. They have left Grantaire's pants on him and he decides to keep them rather than borrowing more clothes. The fabric may be blood stained but it won't be so obvious with a coat over, and until he gets a proper bath he will be smelling of dried blood anyway.

After dressing, Grantaire spends a while convincing Joly that he should be allowed to leave the bed, and no, he does not need more sleep. Giving that Enjolras firmly sides with Joly in this case, it is something of an accomplishment when Grantaire is allowed in the living room, under the strict condition that he does not get out of the couch. Grantaire quietly admits to himself that this might be a good thing, since the short walk from Joly's room to the couch does turn painful on the last few steps. 

It quickly becomes apparent that Enjolras does not like the t-shirt. At all. He hovers, keeping what seems like a reluctant distance, and glares at it every so often. It could be because the t-shirt – which Joly has either picked deliberately or from a hilarious stroke of luck – has the words ' _Team Jacob_ ' printed on the front. But Grantaire knows for a fact that Enjolras doesn't get that sort of references. He has spent much of the last two decades quoting any vampire fiction he could get his hands on at Enjolras - who tragically never has caught any of them beyond a very few Stoker references. No, Enjolras' problem with the t-shirt is much more basic.

“Okay. I know we have werewolf issues, but this is _Bossuet_. You can't seriously feel that as a threat.” Grantaire whispers when Cosette is in the kitchen and Joly has disappeared into his room with a bucket full of cleaning supplies.

“It doesn't smell like Bossuet, even beneath the werewolf.” Enjolras whispers back with clear frustration.

Grantaire sighs. He can't tell much of a difference himself; smell wasn't exactly a very prominent sense for him before. It still isn't, to be honest, not unless he makes a conscious effort. For Enjolras scent is very important though, something he relies on to a larger degree than Grantaire can really comprehend.

“Is it going to be a problem for you? That they all smell different?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras frowns and manages to ignore his aversion to the shirt enough to sit on the coffee table in front of Grantaire. “I just need time to get used to it. I think I'm already adjusting to Joly.”

“What about me? I apparently don't smell completely human. How long did it take you to get used to it when that changed?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras looks at him strangely for several seconds before replying with a note of hesitance: “You smell of me, Grantaire. It wasn't a problem.” 

Right. “Of course I do.” Grantaire sighs in resignation.

“You didn't know?” Enjolras asks quietly while he absentmindedly brushes his fingers across the back of Grantaire's hand. A somewhat proprietary touch Grantaire suspects, and that right there is actually the crux of the matter, isn't it? Because vampires are territorial and Grantaire belongs to Enjolras – a fact Enjolras has done his best to undermine and ignore, but which the more base parts of his psyche remains very aware of. Enjolras owns Grantaire, and so of course if Grantaire's scent has changed it has been to smell more like Enjolras.

“I should have figured.” Grantaire shrugs. He doesn't elaborate further since Cosette returns then with a bowl of soup and they both silently agree to drop the subject. 

Cosette takes a seat on the couch next to Grantaire and makes a very passable attempt at small talk with Enjolras while they both watch Grantaire eat the soup. Grantaire resents that a little, he's an adult who can finish a bowl of soup without constant supervision. Grantaire has never been one to starve himself and certainly not since Enjolras started relying on him for food. Enjolras knows that, the bastard, but still stares attentively until Grantaire is done.

Cosette is slowly working towards asking Enjolras more personal questions when Courfeyrac and Marius walks in. She doesn't exactly jump up to meet them, but it is a near thing.

“Marius!” she calls with clear relief, twisting around in her seat and reaching a hand out for him. 

Marius lights up as he goes to her. He cradles her face between his hands and drops a reverent kiss on her forehead, while she pushes her hands in beneath his jacket. Neither of them speaks; they just stare quietly into each others eyes with adoration on their faces. 

They are glowing. More so even than Enjolras at his most righteous, and Grantaire is compelled to look away, feeling somewhat worthless in comparison to such a display.

“You see what I meant about cavities?” Coureyfac says. “They do this every time they've been apart.”

“Yes, I see. We will just have to make sure they stay together then.” Grantaire says. Courfeyrac laughs in response and Marius manages to tear his eyes away from Cosette to smile at Grantaire.

“I don't mind that solution.” Marius says happily. “You look much better than last time we saw you Grantaire.”

“You too.” Grantaire responds. As far as he can tell Marius is completely healed by now. It helps that he must have taken a shower recently, since the only werewolf scent Grantaire can pick up is Marius' own.

“No, but really. Julien and Ray must be some kind of miracle workers.” Courfeyrac says, shamelessly fishing for an explanation.

“We cheated a bit.” Grantaire says. “This is Enjolras.” He points directly behind him, where Enjolras has retreated to. His new placement puts the couch, Grantaire and the coffee table between Enjolras and Courfeyrac. “Enjolras, this is Corwin and Marius.” Grantaire continues and twist around to look at Enjolras. 

Grantaire realizes that he has made a mistake when he sees the look on Enjolras' face. His eyes are wide and his expression constantly changing. He is clearly aiming for blank but is struggling very much to get there. His eyes keeps flitting between Marius and Courfeyrac. 

“I'm sorry.” Enjolras says, with something much too sincere washing over his face and his voice very close to cracking. 

Grantaire feels his own panic rising. Enjolras had been fine when talking with Joly, which was why Grantaire hadn't thought Courfeyrac and Marius would be a problem. Now it's occurring to him that Enjolras had been talking to Joly for a while before Grantaire woke up, which is not an unimportant factor. And although Enjolras loved all of them equally, he had undoubtedly been closer to Courfeyrac and Marius than to Joly.

Enjolras latches on to Grantaire's shoulder, his fingers digging in in a way that will certainly leave bruises. He exhales slowly and his face gradually settles on something neutral before he focuses on Marius.

“...I'm sorry. I pushed Maria into a wall earlier. Grantaire said you would be mad at me for that.” Enjolras says, his voice much closer to normal this time.

“I... Oh, I mean.” Marius says glancing between Enjolras and Cosette with surprise. “If Maria isn't mad, I'm not either.”

“I'm not.” Cosette says. “He had a good excuse and he apologized very nicely.”

“Good. We're good then.” Marius says while twinning his hands with Cosette's. Enjolras inclines his head in a short, relieved nod, but his fingers are still digging into Grantaire's skin.

“His shirt was open when he apologized.” Grantaire says. “So yes, it was a very nice apology.” 

“It was not!” Enjolras protests while Cosette laughs, which proves to be an incredibly lovely sound. Enjolras loosens his grip on Grantaire slightly. 

“You'd missed a couple of buttons in your hurry, Apollo. It was open to a little above your naval. It was very nice for everyone involved.” Grantaire says, while patting Enjolras' hand and giving him a obligatory once-over to drive the point home.

Enjolras sighs and pulls at Grantaire's hair in faked annoyance. “And remind me, what were you wearing at the time?” He says and reaches down to tug at Grantaire's borrowed t-shirt.

“I'd just been shot. I think I'm allowed to be shirtless when I'm grievously wounded.”

“Yes.” Enjolras says and loosely curls both of his hands around Grantaire's shoulders before finally looking at Courfeyrac, who has been watching them with slightly amused consideration. “You don't happen to know what happened to the shooter? Grantaire's memory is somewhat limited at that point.”

Interestingly, Courfeyrac exchanges a look with Cosette before replying. Grantaire wonders whether he is simply checking because she has spent more time with Enjolras, or if he defers to her in general. 

“He ran. Marius couldn't follow because we had to bring Grantaire to Julien. By the time we got back again he was long gone.” Courfeyrac answers.

“It was the same one with the mirror, the one we was following.” Marius says.

“I'm starting to really dislike that guy.” Grantaire sighs. Behind him, Enjolras growls lowly in agreement, before going completely still. He clearly hadn't meant to do that, which is worrying.

Perhaps the scent thing isn't going to be a problem after all, if Enjolras is already lowering his guard.

“How long has it been since you last slept?” Grantaire asks Enjolras, who frowns down at him, before abruptly turning his head to look at the door. Grantaire belatedly realizes that Marius has already done the same, seconds earlier.

“Not to be rude, but would you...” Courfeyrac begins asking in Enjolras and Grantaire's direction, apparently having the missed the cue that somebody is coming. He's interrupted by Jehan crashing through the front door.

Jehan stops, slightly out of breath, in the doorway and let's his eyes pass over them quickly, only pausing shortly on Grantaire, before settling on - 

“Enjolras.” Jehan breathes out and rushes forward. Enjolras meets him a few steps from the couch, where Jehan tackles him to the ground. Or – since Enjolras has supernatural strength – where Enjolras lets Jehan pull him down. Either way, they both end up on the floor, Jehan eventually in Enjolras' lap, desperately patting each other over for injuries and speaking rapidly in French. Grantaire tries to tune them out, but nonetheless catches the words _shot, die, sorry_ and his own name several times.

“What happened?” Joly comes out of his room to ask, apparently having been summoned by the noises.

“It appears I've been replaced.” Grantaire answers.

“Huh.” Joly says, having spotted Enjolras and Jehan. “By which one of them?” He asks while peeling a couple of large PVC gloves off his hands.

“Both.”

Joly tilts his head to the side, the better to study the two on the floor, who are still too busy clinging and whispering furiously to each other to notice anybody else. Joly raises an eyebrow and makes a thoughtful noise before disappearing into the the kitchen to wash his hands.

“If that is the case we will be happy to adopt you. Only, I think there's a couple of things you haven't told us.” Courfeyrac tells Grantaire and waves to Enjolras and Jehan's rather unusual display.

“I doubt Enjolras would let go of Grantaire.” Cosette says, perhaps with a touch of cold as she studies Enjolras. Her tone softens a great deal when her gaze moves back to Grantaire. “But you are of course more than welcome to stay with us if you want to, or need to.”

There's an underlying offer of help there, which they will have to prove is unnecessary as soon as possible. Still, Grantaire can't help smiling at the sentiment – even misplaced as it is.

“Jehan is an old friends, we've told you that.” Grantaire tells Courfeyrac, ignoring Cosette's remark for now. 

“They haven't seen each other in a very long time.” He ads a little lamely after a short pause. 

Nobody looks convinced by that explanation.

“Since when does John speak French?” Marius asks “And what is that dialect?”

Grantaire hadn't noticed until now, but Jehan is speaking a centuries old version of French, a southern dialect to be more specific, with some Parisian flair mixed in. Enjolras has backslided too and is matching Jehan, although with a few modern alterations once in a while. Judging by Marius expression, he is having trouble understanding this unusual and rapidly spoken dialect, which is probably why nobody has questioned Enjolras' and Jehan's repeated mention of barricades and death yet.

“A proper French one.” Grantaire says enunciating slowly as he adopts it himself. The words roll of his tongue naturally, and it occurs to him that he probably has been using it when speaking French with Jehan without noticing.

“Could we please speak a language everybody understands?” Joly says as he returns from the kitchen. He makes a beeline for Grantaire and presses a glass of water and a bottle of pills into his hands. “I've decided that we might as well help the magic along. This is iron tablets, take two now. You're also getting more antibiotics, but I've run out so that'll have to wait until Ray gets here.”

Grantaire parses that for a second before looking around Joly to catch Courfeyrac's eyes “Raymond knows? And Patrick is a werewolf. Clearly, there's a couple of things _you_ didn't tell _us_.”

“Ray found out last night because _somebody_ refused to go to the hospital, and I needed all the help I could get.” Joly says before Courfeyrac can respond. “Two pills. Now.” He ads and taps the back of Grantaire's hand.

_God, I missed you_. Grantaire thinks as he gets two pills out of the little plastic bottle and swallows them. When Joly sternly taps the glass, Grantaire drinks the water as well. He empties the glass just as Jehan climbs over the back of the couch and envelops him in a hug; jostling the glass out of Grantaire's hand in the process. Grantaire doesn't hear it hit the floor, so it must land somewhere in the couch - but, actually, he doesn't care about the glass right now, because being manhandled like that turns out to hurt quite a bit.

“Thank God you're okay. You are never allowed to be shot again. Enjolras and I have agreed.” Jehan says into the top of Grantaire's head, still in old French.

“nf...” Grantaire answers, finding words difficult with his face pressed into Jehan's shoulder. Also, pain.

“Careful.” Enjolras says above them. He pulls Jehan's hands away and resettles them in a much loser grip. 

A horrified Jehan starts apologizing to Grantaire, but is interrupted halfway through by Joly reminding him to speak English, please, English is now the only official language in his apartment. 

“Do you know anything else about the shooter?” Enjolras asks Courfeyrac and Marius calmly, as if he hasn't spent the last 5 minutes cuddling with Jehan. He looks more relaxed than Grantaire has seen him all day.

“Okay - I _do_ like you - but really? You think we're going to ignore that?” Courfeyrac asks, waving at Enjolras and Jehan's previous spot on the floor and then, after a little hesitation, pointing vaguely in the direction of Jehan and Grantaire as well. They have rearranged themselves to give Jehan enough room to get a look at Grantaire's bandage without letting go of him.

“It would be the polite thing to do.” Grantaire says as he pulls his borrowed t-shirt down again. “Notice how I haven't asked why Maria knows so much about the horrible creatures of the night, or how Marius and Patrick ended up as before mentioned creatures. You don't have to know our back story to trust us - Which you hopefully already do, otherwise you shouldn't have let us in here.”

It wouldn't be completely unlikely, Grantaire thinks, that their good Samaritan tendencies had made them bring a potentially dangerous stranger into their home. And there was Jehan, of course. They couldn't leave a friend of Jehan's to bleed on the sidewalk, even if they didn't trust him themselves. 

But surely that was a point in his favor as well – that he was a friend of Jehan. If they trusted Jehan they should give Enjolras and Grantaire the benefit of doubt by extension, and Grantaire had never lied to them – he'd omitted information at worst, but even then he thinks he made the omission clear to everyone. Withholding information, yes, any deception, no. He'd done his best to tell them what he and Enjolras were without telling them what they were. 

And Jehan – it had to be very good deception to have fooled Jehan, who was an “old friend”. To do that would mean manipulating with Jehan's mind, which – well, technically Enjolras was capable of that. In theory. But it was very dark magic, the kind with irreversible consequences. Grantaire didn't think any of them would be able to smile at Enjolras this casually if they thought he would do something like that. Although, perhaps Marius just couldn't fold his face any other way when he was in Cosette's presence.

“You did say that we shouldn't trust anyone not human.” Marius says.

“Except for Grantaire.” Jehan corrects “And now Enjolras too, of course.”

“Because there's no point in trusting me if you don't trust Enjolras.” Grantaire says, mostly to win honesty points from Cosette, who seems to be the main source of suspicion. She does look surprised at the admission and turns her gaze away from Marius again to look searchingly at Grantaire.

“Let's not do this again.” Jehan says with exasperation “For my sake, at least. Just tell them about the storage unit.”

“We were always going to. Just trying to clear some things up about your mysterious friends first.” Courfeyrac says. “But as you command; When we came back, the guy was gone, and the trail led to a dead end. Instead we tried following his old tracks, the ones who got us there in the first place, and they led us to a rented storage unit that the guy has been visiting frequently. That's where he was, between attacking you in the alley and shooting Grantaire.”

“That's a couple of hours.” Grantaire says.

“Yes. One wonders what he's got in there. Sir Patrick had a bright idea when we told him.” Courfeyrac continues and absentmindedly gestures towards what must be Bossuet's room. “He says that Martin does temp work there sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember. His uncle is the manager. We only have to tell Martin to get in then.” Jehan says and straightens in his seat. He pauses and glances at Enjolras before adding. “He'll be thrilled to help. He's never stayed out of a fight if he could help it.”

Ah. Bahorel then.

Enjolras smiles with recognition and squeezes Jehan's shoulder as a thank you. Jehan seems to understand the meaning of the touch because he doesn't hint further and shifts his attention to Courfeyrac, Joly and Marius instead.

“You should tell Alexandre and Ariel as well, since everybody else knows. I mean -You should have told us long ago, not just now. But they certainly don't deserve to be kept in the dark as the only ones.”

“We are going to tell them.” Marius promises.

Courfeyrac nods furiously in agreement and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Jehan. “We realize that it wasn't fair of us, but suddenly there was magic and monsters out there, Jehan.” Courfeyrac says honestly, and Grantaire feels Jehan shiver next to him at the use of his nickname. “We were just trying to keep all of you safe.”

“Fuck safe. If you discover monsters and magic I want to know. I'll always prefer knowing, no matter how unsafe it is. - And you know, I got attacked by a guy with a magic mirror and Grantaire has been shot. What you don't know can still hurt you.”

“Especially if it's monsters of the human-hunting kind.” Joly says and nods to Enjolras, who – to Grantaire's great disbelief – laughs softly and tips his head toward Joly in acknowledgment. 

What? Enjolras doesn't...Usually when monsters are mentioned Enjolras either gets A) upset, when it's alluded to that Enjolras could hurt people, or B) righteously upset, when it's alluded to that other supernatural monsters hurt people. Laughing is not a response that has happened before....What were they talking about while Grantaire slept?

Courfeyrac sends Joly a look, which he takes in stride “I always voted for telling them.” Joly points out. “Speaking of which; who's calling Martin? It's just past five, so if we're lucky he might not have found any trouble yet.”

***

Bahorel has in fact found trouble in the shape of a prank on a professor in family law, which he admits can be postponed for an hour or so, but only if they have a very good excuse. Courfeyrac shamelessly promises him werewolves and Bahorel shows up at Joly's door less than twenty minutes later.

“That is the weirdest attempt at persuasion I've ever experienced.” He says as way of greeting. “But it definitely worked. Here I am and you've really got my hopes up. I don't know if I'll beat you up or congratulate you on your creativity if there aren't any werewolves.”

“There are werewolves.” Courfeyrac reassures him, before pausing and glancing questioningly at the others, who looks just as unsure of what to say. After several seconds of nobody volunteering to begin, Enjolras clears his throat and leaves his spot behind the couch.

“I'm Enjolras.” He says and offers Bahorel his hand. A smile that is much too honest spreads on his face when Bahorel shakes it.

“Grantaire.” Grantaire says while pointing at himself, hopefully taking some of the attention away from Enjolras' expression.

“Hello. I'm Martin. You're new. Are you werewolves?” Bahorel asks.

“No, not werewolves. But Marius and Patrick are.” Grantaire says, to surprised noises from everyone but Enjolras. “What? We don't have all the time in the world. He has a prank to get to.”

“...I do.” Bahorel says a little distantly as he turns and stares at Marius.

“I...Okay. Yeah, I...” Marius says very awkwardly, before hiding his face in his hand and sighing loudly. When he looks up again there's determination in his eyes. 

“Okay.” Marius says and starts telling Bahorel about the monsters and magic. 

Marius seems to have taking Grantaire's comment about time to heart, because his explanation is very short and to the point. All Grantaire learns about Marius and Bossuet's turning is that Marius was bitten by an unknown werewolf at night, and that Bossuet had the misfortune of showing up unexpectedly on Marius' first full moon. Grantaire suspects that there was a bit more drama to the events than that; there seems to be some holes and hesitations in Marius narrative, especially the conspicuous lack of Cosette, and sometimes he shares a loaded look with one of the others. Still, this is much more than Grantaire knew before

Bahorel is a surprisingly good audience, considering the strangeness of the story. He listens quietly without interrupting, and doesn't call them all crazy by the time Marius has reached to why they need to get into the storage unit and finishes.

“You do realize that you'll have to show me something, right?” Bahorel says “I'm inclined to believe you, but if we're pulling shit on my uncle I want someone to do _something_.”

“I can't...” Marius begins, turning to Courfeyrac for help, before being interrupted by Enjolras stepping forward, grabbing Bahorel's shirt and lifting him off the floor with one hand.

Bahorel laughs in surprise, and waves his feet around in the air, as if to check that he really isn't touching the floor anymore. Enjolras slowly stretches his arm all the way out, so Bahorel's head very nearly touches the ceiling. 

“Okay.” Bahorel says, a little breathless. “But you could just be freakishly strong. Maybe you're one of those lean and really strong people.”

“Perhaps.” Enjolras agrees amused. After a moments thought he lowers Bahorel again, so their faces are closer, and lets his eyes change with a low growl. His pupils dilate until his irises are gone, while a ring of red creeps in from the edges. It's black and red swallowing up white and blue, and it's damn disconcerting to watch. 

Bahorel immediately jerks back in Enjolras hold with a surprised curse. Then he starts laughing again.

“Shit, that's freaky!” He says with clear delight

“Are you convinced?” Enjolras asks, smiling again. 

“Very.”

Enjolras presses a light kiss to Bahorels cheek, before setting him down and stepping back. Grantaire sighs at the sight. So far he has been going for friendly when dealing with the others, but Enjolras is clearly not in a mood for anything that subtle.

“I like you.” Bahorel chuckles “Vampire, was it?”

Enjolras nods, his smile becoming impossibly brighter even as Bahorel turns away.

“Nothing to add from the werewolf?” Bahorel asks Marius hopefully.

“I can only change if it's full moon.” Marius says while shaking his head. “I guess I could lift something too. Or you could cut me and it would heal quickly...”

“No.” Joly interrupts firmly. “There has already been way too much bleeding in here. You are not doing it too. I've nearly run out of bleach again.”

“What about you then?” Bahorel asks, turning to Grantaire. “Marius didn't say, but you look very good for someone who's just been shot.”

Grantaire silently lifts the bottom of his borrowed t-shirt to reveal his new, clean bandage, while he tries to formulate a diplomatic answer.

“Grantaire is Enjolras' thrall.” Cosette says before Grantaire can.

“I don't know what that is.” Bahorel admits.

“Neither does google.” Courfeyrac says darkly.

“It means,” Grantaire says hastily, before Cosette can start explaining. “It means that there's a little bit vampire in my blood. And - well, there's several very disturbing implications attached - but in practice it means that I feed him.”

He can't help smiling as he says it. _I feed him_ has long been his response whenever somebody questioned what Enjolras was doing with him. It is surprisingly satisfying to say it to someone who will understand his full meaning.

Bahorel looks from Grantaire to Enjolras with troubled fascination. So does everybody but Cosette, with varying degrees of surprise. Most of them seems to have suspected already. But not Jehan, it appears, judging from the penetrating stare he is directing at Enjolras. Joly is the most blasé; he wordlessly picks up the little bottle and presses two more iron tablets into Grantaire's hand.

Enjolras only twitches a little under the scrutiny. Grantaire is honestly amazed how calmly he is taking it. Usually the word thrall makes him more hostile than even the most over-privileged of bourgeoisie. 

“Time?” Grantaire prompts, before it's get awkward enough that he'll have to elaborate.

“Right.” Bahorel says. “When do you want me to sneak you in?”

“Grantaire should be fine by tomorrow.” Enjolras says.

“Grantaire's going? He's just been shot.” Jehan objects.

“Grantaire has been shot before, much worse than this.” Grantaire mutters.”I'll be perfectly fine.”

Enjolras grimaces at that and reappears behind the couch again, moving there much faster than a normal human would. Cosette jumps a little in her spot beside Grantaire, even though Enjolras makes sure to appear on Grantaire's other side, between him and Jehan. Grantaire reaches up once he's still and squeezes Enjolras' hand reassuringly to keep him from changing his mind.

“But you don't _need_ to go with us, - and wouldn't tonight be better? If you can do it tonight?” Jehan says, directing the last part to Bahorel.

“I think he does need to come.” Enjolras says before Bahorel can respond. He looks regretfully at Jehan and brushes a hand over his shoulder in apology before continuing. “That mirror is not a common object and Grantaire knows more about this stuff than I do. More than Madame Marie too, I think?” He tilts his head toward Cosette.

“My knowledge is very basic and....mostly theoretical.” Cosette admits carefully. “It would perhaps be better if you came, but only if you're sure you are going to be okay by then.” Cosette tells Grantaire.

“Honestly, Enjolras' judgment is better than mine on that.” If nothing else, then because Enjolras tended to be overly cautious with Grantaire's injuries. If he thinks Grantaire will be able to go by tomorrow, then he most certainly will.

Cosette turns to Enjolras “And you're sure?”

“I've stopped bleeding.” Enjolras says. He peels back the bandage on his wrist to reveal flawlessly smooth skin, dark red smears of blood the only sign that the skin was ever broken. Joly immediately jumps forward and grabs Enjolras' arm to inspect his wrist.

“Which means that the worst of my healing is done.” Grantaire explains Cosette, while pointedly ignoring how Joly is pushing in between Grantaire and Jehan to better get at Enjolras.

“Tomorrow then?” Bahorel asks while pulling out his phone. “I really do have to go now, but I'll see what I can do.”

“I'll walk you out.” Marius says. He presses a quick kiss to the top of Cosette's head before following Bahorel out the door, presumably to give Bahorel time for more questions.

Grantaire is looking in Cosette's general direction, so he doesn't miss how a sad expression crosses her face at Marius departure. Some of his incredulity must show, because Courfeyrac catches his eyes and makes an expression that is clearly _I know, right?_ Grantaire hopes that his answering nod manages to convey his deep admiration that Courfeyrac hasn't washed his hands of them both yet.

“Finally alone, Darling.” Coufeyrac says dramatically and moves forward to take one of Cosette's hand between both of his. “Come, let us talk in the kitchen 'til your beau returns.” 

Grantaire watches with some dread as Courfeyrac pulls Cosette to her feet and they both disappears into the kitchen. Courfeyrac is probably aiming to get the proper definition of thrall out of Cosette. While Grantaire is aware that everybody will hear it soon enough, he does not think that Cosette and Courfeyrac conferring about their suspicions right now will be in Enjolras' and his own favor. All of them will have to know the mechanics eventually, but Grantaire would really prefer if they could go over the thrall thing after the others knew them well enough not to draw any wrong conclusions. 

Once they all had their memories back would be preferable. 

Which reminds him of Jehan.

“Maybe someplace with better lighting would help?” Grantaire suggests to Joly, who is currently holding Enjolras' wrist a few inches from his face to search for any sign of damage.

“Perhaps the kitchen.” Enjolras suggests. And okay, sometimes even Grantaire is surprised by how well Enjolras reads him.

Joly jumps on that idea with a gleam in his eyes. He tells Jehan to keep Grantaire in the couch before pulling Enjolras with him by the wrist. Enjolras follows him happily with a fond look. 

There is some noises from the kitchen when they ruin Cosette and Courfeyrac's téte-à-téte. Judging from Joly's gleeful tone of voice, he is not an unwilling participant in the interruption.

“So...” Grantaire says, once he is alone with Jehan. “Questions?”

Jehan is slumped against the back of the couch. He rolls his head in Grantaire's direction at his words, and ends up watching Grantaire sideways.

“I get questions? You were being very secretive. All of you.”

“You get special treatment because you're my favorite.”

Jehan snorts. “I doubt that.” 

He reaches over and pulls Bossuet's t-shirt down until Grantaire's collarbone is exposed. The bite mark on Grantaire's throat is old and faded enough that people usually only notices it if they are looking for it. The one at his collarbone, on the other hand, was open only a week ago and is distinctly mouth shaped. Jehan studies it intently.

“I don't know any lore, but I do know what the word 'thrall' means.” Jehan says.

“Yeah?”

“It's an old Norse word for slave.” Jehan says. “So I think I've got a general idea.”

Marius returns through the door then. Jehan lets go of the t-shirt to wave at him in greeting. Marius waves back a little awkwardly, before going into the kitchen too. The level of noise rises a couple of decibels at his arrival. Grantaire hasn't seen the inside of the kitchen yet, but he doubts that it's built to fit five people comfortably.

Grantaire turns back to Jehan.

“Maybe this isn't the best time to do this. We won't get far before someone comes out and interrupts us.” Grantaire admits.

“We'll start with the most important then; Tell me about the disturbing implications.” Jehan says.

“Apart from the name?” Grantaire says. “That's the main one. A thrall is a slave, basically - only a supernatural one, so there's mind control involved. I'm... I'm _a subject to his will_ is how it was explained to me. If Enjolras orders me to do something, I have to. I physically can't not do it.”

“Enjolras wouldn't take advantage of that.” Jehan says, and Grantaire feels a swell of affection at the utter certainty he puts into the words.

“He doesn't.” Grantaire agrees. “But it's not just making me do stuff. It's... he can control everything. He could change my mood or erase my thoughts. Biological stuff too. My body hasn't aged because he doesn't want me to. Only he didn't do that on purpose, didn't know he _could_ do that.“

“That's a bit worrying.” Jehan admits hesitantly.

“Trust me, we're aware of that. It's handy though.” Grantaire says and waves to himself. “I wouldn't still be here otherwise. And it's... Thralls usually only survive a couple of months. But if they get older – over a year or so – they usually stop thinking. It's a gradual thing, but in the end they stop completely. No awareness, really. Empty shells, just waiting for orders. And I'm – It's almost been 200 years and I'm still here. Still me, and no more mindless than usual.”

“Less mindless, I think.” Jehan says carefully. “More sober at least.” 

Jehan curls his hand around the back Grantaire's and squeezes it. Grantaire turns his hand over and squeezes back with a soft smile.

“I'm not worried, I promise. Enjolras wouldn't do that to anyone, and certainly not to you.” Jehan says firmly.

“No.” Grantaire hums, closing his eyes with relief and relaxing into the back of the couch. “It's pointless with me anyway. Would do anything if he just asked.”

Jehan sighs. He untangles their hands and pushes some of Grantaire's hair away from his face.

“That's a bit worrying too.”

“Perhaps. But it's nothing new.” Grantaire agrees. As far as character flaws goes, he doesn't think following Enjolras like a shadow is his worst. Although it is the one that has nearly gotten him killed the most times.

“Any more questions?” Grantaire asks.

“The blood.” Jehan says immediately. He pulls the t-shirt down again to emphasize his meaning.

“Didn't I already do that? The feeding?” Grantaire frowns. “You have to be more specific.” 

There's the loud noise of glass breaking from the kitchen, followed by Joly letting out a string a swearwords, liberally intermingled with Courfeyrac's name. Then there's the smack of somebody falling to the floor, which must also be Joly, judging by the way the swearing suddenly cuts of and are then picked up with impressive creativity. Cosette and Marius flees from the kitchen then, both with worried glances backwards. 

“Too late.” Grantaire mutters to Jehan, before raising his voice. “What happened?”

“I may have broken a bottle of olive oil.” Courfeyrac answers as he speedwalks out of the kitchen as well.

And yes, on closer inspection his hands and the front of his shirts are wet with something shiny. Marius has got a a giant wet spot on his left leg as well, while Cosette seems to have come out unscathed.

“You _exploded_ a nearly full bottle of olive oil in my kitchen! And Christ, Corwin! How did you even manage that?” Joly says, following just behind Courfeyrac. His entire back and most of his front is wet, probably from his tumble on the floor.

“I'm really sorry, but – Julien!” 

Joly grabs for Courfeyrac's hair with oil-stained fingers. Courfeyrac yells in surprise and runs behind Marius for cover. 

“You live with Stewart! This is not the worst thing that has happened to your kitchen. He ripped of the faucet only two weeks ago, and he's still alive!”

“Patrick has superstrength that fluctuates with the moon. You were telling a joke! This is why Ray doesn't let you have props!”

“Wait, it's Patrick Stewart?” Grantaire whispers “You call Bossuet Patrick Stewart?”

“Or Captain Picard.” Jehan answers. “Because he does great speeches.”

Grantaire snorts delighted.

“Jokes don't need props, Corwin! Now there's glass everywhere!”

“I've picked it up.” Enjolras says. He's been leaning against the doorway for several seconds, an amused grin on his face. There is of course no sign of oil on him at all.

Joly turns to look suspiciously at him..

“All of it?” Joly asks with narrowed eyes.

“I have very good eyesight and I'm fast.” Enjolras shrugs.

Joly only hesitates shortly, before pushing past Enjolras back into the kitchen. It's quiet as he inspects Enjolras' work until he calls:

“Thank you.”

His voice is much calmer. Courfeyrac clearly takes this as a sign that the worst is over, because he visibly sags with relief.

“Oh, thank you.” He enthuses and hugs Enjolras quickly before darting into the kitchen after Joly.

Oh, and Grantaire takes back whatever he had been thinking before, because a smile is spreading over Enjolras face and it is easily much brighter than whatever poor approximation Cosette and Marius had been doing before. They were like a fire in the night; appearing bright and warm, but only because the sun wasn't out yet.

Enjolras shifts his gaze to Grantaire, who is pretty sure his mind blanks out for a short second at the contact. Then Enjolras is moving across the floor to him. Again, moving much too fast – and usually he really has no trouble appearing human. This must be some kind of deliberate disregard, Grantaire thinks, forcefully pulling himself back to rational thought.

“What's going on with you, Apollo?” Grantaire asks in the old French dialect, to get some level of privacy.

“I'm happy.” Enjolras answers, completely unfazed by the question. Just....smiling at him.

“I've seen you happy. This is...you high.” Grantaire says, struggling for words.

“I can't get high. You know that.” Enjolras says.

Grantaire grimaces because, yes, he remembers. That had not been a good day. He is pulled from the memory when Enjolras curls a hand around the back of Grantaire's neck and presses their foreheads together.

...And then he just stays there. Weaving his fingers into Grantaire's hair and breathing.

It's nice, sharing breathe like that - not to mention having Enjolras this close and _happy_. Usually touching is for comfort. But right now Enjolras is nothing but happiness, nearly bursting with it. He even makes that low satisfied hum he always does while feeding. 

The touch goes on much longer than usual, though. Even through closed eyes Grantaire can't help becoming increasingly aware of their friends watching. In the end he has to push Enjolras off – but only after having waited several seconds past the point of awkwardness, of course.

Enjolras doesn't pick up on this at all, because sometimes he is really bad at reading Grantaire – or maybe just willfully ignorant of things he doesn't agree with. Either way, he actually looks hurt when Grantaire shoves him away.

“If you don't watch it, this is going to be Trina and Katherine all over again.” Grantaire says.

Enjolras blinks at him and then the hurt gets replaced by exasperation. He sighs and shakes his head at Grantaire, as if all their reincarnated friends thinking they are a couple is no concern of his. As if it wouldn't be incredibly weird for everyone involved.

Admittedly, his perspective on that is very different from Grantaire's. He clearly isn't the one who gets inappropriate boners in his sleep because the bed smells of Enjolras. All of it. Always. No matter which pillow Grantaire uses or which side he sleeps on. If he didn't know better he would think Enjolras did it deliberately.

“You're welcome with me.” Jehan offers Enjolras and opens his arms wide in invitation. And just like that Enjolras is brimming again.

“Jehan.” Enjolras laughs, as if he's just rediscovered that Jehan is there. He accepts Jehan's offer immediately and practically crawls into Jehan's lap to snuggle close into his chest.

“You're ridiculous.” Grantaire pronounces, a little baffled. An adorable Enjolras is a rare creature and something in Grantaire's chest is clenching in a slightly new way. 

“Happy.” Jehan corrects, while resting his cheek on the top of Enjolras' head.

Grantaire has seen Enjolras happy before but this is... overjoyed. Giddy? - Unprecedented is what it is. But then, they haven't ever met their previously dead, now reincarnated friends before.

And Jehan. Enjolras overflowing had started with Jehan on the floor. Grantaire wonders how Enjolras will look if they manage to get the rest to remember.

“Raymond.“ Marius announces, and Enjolras head snaps up, right before there's a knock on the door. Enjolras is out of Jehan's embrace and waiting at the entrance in a matter of seconds.

Grantaire lets himself slump sideways into Jehan's lap, so he can't see Combeferre entering. Something is crumbling in his chest and it's dawning on him that there isn't much he wouldn't do to make sure they all remember Enjolras again.

“Are you happy?” He asks Jehan in a whisper.

Jehan quietly starts braiding the hair at Grantaire's temple while he considers, before whispering back: “I'm worried, and I think you scared ten yours of my life last night. But I'm very happy you're here.”

Grantaire breathes out, a little relieved. He tilts his head to give Jehan better access and settles himself more comfortably, while he listens to Enjolras introducing himself.


	6. Bossuet - Feuilly

When Bossuet comes home half past seven, everybody else has left and both Grantaire and Joly have managed to fall asleep. Joly because he spent most of the night putting Grantaire back together. Grantaire because – well, he would like to say that he's sleeping to make sure he'll be fine by tomorrow, but in reality he fell asleep on the couch while waiting for Bossuet to make an appearance.

It turns out not to be a complete loss, because he gets the pleasure of being woken by Enjolras. Grantaire blinks his eyes open to the lovely sight of Enjolras' face - which is enough of a reward for waking in itself – but then Apollo moves out of the way and there is Bossuet looking down at Grantaire curiously.

“Can I touch your head?” Grantaire asks, because he's just been woken and whatever has kept him rational around them apparently doesn't work when he's sleepy. 

It's _Bossuet_. Reincarnated Bossuet. And he's _still bald_. 

It's nice that some things don't change. That Bossuet's hair and Marius name are some of those things are surprising, but nonetheless very nice.

“If you buy me a drink first.” Bossuet says cheerfully, although sounding a little surprised at the request.

Enjolras sends Grantaire a look. And right, normal behavior – but honestly, Enjolras really shouldn't be throwing stones on acting natural around them.

“Sorry, I'm... I'm not even drunk – That's new.” Grantaire says and levers himself up into an upright position. His shoulder and legs feels cramped after having been curled up on the couch, but thankfully there's no spike of pain from his stomach when he stretches. “Sorry, again. In my defense I've recently been shot.”

“Yes, I was here when they brought you.” Bossuet says, frowning a little now “I'd heard you got better.”

“I'm fine. Just tired.” Grantaire says quickly, reassuring Enjolras as well, who has narrowed his eyes slightly. ”Wanna see? It's very unimpressive by now, but everybody else have had a look.”

“It's not supposed to be impressive.” Enjolras chastises. He pushes Grantaire's hands away nonetheless, and unwraps the bandage himself.

There has been a slight improvement since Joly first saw it. There's very little new skin, if any, but Grantaire thinks the color is better. A healthier pink. It doesn't hurt as much when he pokes it either.

“Jeez, don't do that.” Bossuet says. “We'll all be in trouble if you tear a stitch.”

“No. He did that too, when he was looking me over. Although that might just have been to check my pain tolerance.” Grantaire says.

“Doctors are sadists.” Bossuet says sagely.

“Joly is sleeping in your bed, by the way.”

“Julien.” Enjolras corrects him quickly.

“Right, sorry.” Shit. Not again. 

“You called him that last night too. I think.” Bossuet musses.

“I was talking? I was barely conscious.” Grantaire says. He looks nervously at Enjolras who has either regained his poker face or is just incredibly unconcerned.

“You talk the most when you're barely conscious.” Enjolras reminds him. “It's usually metaphors and literary references too old for even me to remember.”

“John was the only one who understood you, but I think it was mostly names.” Bossuet says. He glances at Enjolras with a slightly odd expression. 

Grantaire cringes. He can easily imagine himself half-delirious and whimpering Enjolras name over and over while Joly digs around in his stomach.

“Jehan.” Grantaire corrects Bossuet, a little petulantly.

Bossuet allows that with a slightly amused shrug. It's occurring to Grantaire that he probably isn't making a very good first impression – or second, if the barely conscious bleeding from the night before counts. Maybe it's because he's still fuzzy from sleep, but thinking back he haven't done much better with any of the others.

Well. They'll have to love Enjolras no matter what, and keeping him around means enduring Grantaire's presence as well. Grantaire will win them over if he has to. He's good at that. Just look at Enjolras – although the blood is definitely a factor there. Not to mention the barricade - No. Better not go there. Point is. He's managed to befriend them all before, several lifetimes ago, and this time he has much more motivation. First impression won't matter if you're persistent enough.

“Why is Julien in my bed?” Bossuet asks. “Not that it isn't a pleasant surprise.”

“Because I'm sharing with Grantaire, and Julien's room smells the least of werewolf.” Enjolras says.  
“And perhaps you're willing to go back to bed now?” He asks Grantaire, leaving the _now that you've seen Bossuet_ unspoken.

Grantaire nods and reaches a hand out for Enjolras. “It was nice meeting you.” Grantaire says to Bossuet as Enjolras pulls him up.

“Wait, the scent of werewolf bothers you?” Bossuet asks “Is there a vampire-werewolf feud? Because I thought that was a pop-culture thing. I mean I can smell that you aren't human but it doesn't really feel any different. I don't have a sudden urge to tear out your throat or anything.”

“Heart. Werewolves generally prefer tearing out the heart.” Grantaire mutters. “Trust me on this. I've gotten up and personal with that tactic. Cracks open the ribcage and eats the...”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras sighs. Grantaire stops talking and makes a show out of pressing his lips tightly together.

“Right.” Bossuet says, looking a mix between curious and queasy. “I need to know that kind of thing, but can we do it when I'm not just about to go to bed?”

“You can ask anytime. We are not going anywhere for a while.” Enjolras promises. Grantaire hums in agreement. “And there's no feud. That's just me. We angered a clan of werewolves four years ago in northern Spain, and occasionally one of them shows up. The scent of werewolf makes me a little tense now.”

“A clan? Not a pack?” Bossuet asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“There's a lot of them.” Enjolras says.

“Should I keep some distance? So I don't startle you into tearing out my throat – or is it heart?”

“No, you shouldn't – you don't have to.” Enjolras says hastily. “I'll get used to it soon. It won't be a problem.” He pauses, takes a step forward and catches Bossuet's eyes.

“I wouldn't hurt you.” Enjolras promises firmly, while looking heartbreakingly sincere. Bossuet stares back startled, and Grantaire wonders if he caught the implied _never_ that was barely hiding in there.

“Any of you.” Grantaire adds softly and surreptitiously grasps the back of Enjolras shirt to gently tug him toward Joly's room. Grantaire tries smiling reassuringly at Bossuet. “He's not going to accidentally jump you no matter what you smell like. He was turned almost 200 years ago. That's more than enough time to perfect his control. - And it's tearing out the throat, with Enjolras.”

“200 years?” Bossuet says quietly, while Enjolras grimaces at Grantaire.

“I've only done that once.” Enjolras says.

“Yes, and you were deeply convincing that time.” Grantaire tries to mime _blood everywhere_ , by repeatedly sweeping his hands outward from his throat and into the air while making faces. They'd had to burn both of their clothes after that time, and Enjolras had needed Grantaire's help to wash the blood out of his hair. It'd been a sight, Enjolras painted all in red. Grantaire had called him Achilles for weeks, and only stopped because Enjolras absently asked if that made Grantaire Patroclus.

In present time, Enjolras grabs Grantaire's hands to stop the mime and scowls at him. Bossuet still looks surprised by the 200 years, so he probably didn't catch what Grantaire was trying to convey, but it occurs to Grantaire that it wasn't very smart - considering the friendly, mostly harmless vampire thing he has been going for so far. 

Enjolras really can't take Grantaire anywhere. 

“I'm tired.” Grantaire says preemptively, before Enjolras can say something disapproving. Enjolras' scowl immediately morphs into soft worry while his grip on Grantaire's hands tightens. 

With nothing but a distracted goodnight to Bossuet, Enjolras gently, but firmly, pulls Grantaire into Joly's room. It smells of bleach, and Grantaire doesn't remember seeing anyone carrying them away, but it seems that the sheets have magically been changed as well. As soon as the door closes Grantaire wiggles his hands free and unceremoniously dumps himself face first into the bed. 

Yes, they definitely smell like clean linen.

“You're not sleeping like that.”

Grantaire flops onto his back with a groan. “This acceptable?”

Grantaire feels the bed shift and opens his eyes to see Enjolras crawl onto the foot of the bed, long legs folding gracefully beneath him.

“You're sleeping in your pants?” Enjolras asks while curling a hand around one of Grantaire's ankles.

“Too much effort. I just want to sleep.” Grantaire groans. He slowly pulls his legs backward to test Enjolras' grip, but doesn't get far before Enjolras locks his arm and sends him a warning look. Grantaire lets his leg fall back with a sigh. 

“Really though, when was the last time you slept? You do need sleep to function, even if it's less than us regular mortals.” Grantaire points out.

“I will.” Enjolras promises and pushes up one leg of Grantaire's pants to reveal the small knife that's strapped there. It's actually miraculous that it's still in place after all the drama. “You could at least remove the knife.” Enjolras says and carefully starts loosening the straps.

“ _Sleeping_ Enjolras. It's awesome. We should all do it.” Grantaire tries, rubbing at his eyes. “I'm going to do it now, so stop talking.” 

Enjolras only hums under his breath in reply.

***

Bahorel shows up in the morning to tell them that he'll be able to get all of them into the storage unit sometime around four. Bossuet is cooking up a rather elaborate breakfast at the time and so Bahorel decides to stay a while. By the time Grantaire stumbles barelegged out of bed, Bahorel has acquired a little mountain worth of breakfast and is telling Enjolras how he persuaded one of his coworkers into switching shifts by claiming to need an alibi for a prank.

“An alibi? For the prank you pulled yesterday?” Enjolras asks and accepts a plate of sausages from Bossuet at the stove. He tips the sausages on top of Bahorel's little mountain before passing the plate back to Bossuet. His movements are done in such an absent fashion that it can't be the first time.

“To make the story hold up I have – sadly - been forced to arrange a sequel.” Bahorel grins, completely unrepentant.

“Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.” Bossuet says and salutes Bahorel with his spatula. “Morning, Grantaire.” He adds as he turns back to the stove.

“Morning.” Grantaire answers and steps out from where he was hiding in the doorway. Enjolras turns to him and unceremoniously greets him by pushing up the borrowed t-shirt.

Grantaire ignores the impromptu wound inspection in favor of asking where his pants have gone. They have mysteriously disappeared while he slept and Enjolras is the far most likely candidate. Since Grantaire's subconsciousness is incapable of seeing Enjolras as a threat, Enjolras is probably the only one capable of taking them without waking Grantaire.

“There was blood on them, and Julien was doing laundry anyway.” Enjolras pulls the t-shirt down, satisfied for now, and guides Grantaire into a chair next to Bahorel.

“Here.” Bossuet says and passes Enjolras another plate, this one containing a slightly smaller version of Bahorel's mountain. “Thralls eat too, yes?”

“Yes.” Enjolras answers, putting the plate down in front of Grantaire while trying to hide a grimace at the name. Grantaire smiles in amusement at the sight; getting some rest seems to have let Enjolras' usual tics return.

It takes little prompting to make Bahorel continue his story, and after a while Bousset joins them at the table with his own mountain of food. The table only has three chairs so Enjolras remains standing, hovering near Grantaire and occasionally prodding the conversation along with soft questions.

“You smell sick.” Enjolras remarks as soon as Grantaire has finished his plate, giving the impression that he has been waiting.

“I'm not.” Grantaire sighs.

“Not anymore. But you still smell sick.”

When Bossuet agrees that he kinda does, leaning into Grantaire's space and unsubtly sniffing him while making a face, Grantaire gives in and takes a shower.

By the times he comes out again – now, hopefully, smelling of nothing but soap - Bahorel has left and Joly has returned with his pants. The 'team jacob' t-shirt has been taken in the meantime and Grantaire is given a plain white one in exchange, this one smelling vaguely of Bossuet as well. He really should have brought some clothes himself, but he hadn't had any thought to how long he would be staying here – although, in hindsight, he should have expected that bloodshed would somehow ruin his clothes, no matter how short his stay. 

“No, Grantaire.” Enjolras says when Grantaire asks if he has brought anything. “I didn't pause to pack a weekend bag after you got shot.” His face has gone carefully still in a way that means he is angry. Grantaire wisely chooses to retreat, and sets Joly upon Enjolras as a distraction. It ends up in blood samples, since the 'no bleeding in the apartment' rule apparently doesn't count when it comes to science.

They spend the next couple of hours doing nothing in particular. Grantaire parks himself in the couch again and quickly discovers that there is nothing worth watching on tv. Joly is busy fuzzing over his samples, while Bossuet starts reading through an alarmingly thick stack of papers, occasionally pausing to ask Grantaire or Enjolras a question about werewolves. Grantaire gets the impression that he already knows half the answers, and is either testing them or merely checking the validity of his own knowledge. Either way, Grantaire makes an effort to answer as precisely as possible and admits ignorance every time he is in doubt of something. Enjolras answers what little he can, but otherwise spends his time silently standing near either Joly or Bossuet, and once in a while disrupts the pattern by pausing at the couch to look disapprovingly at whatever Grantaire is watching.

At some point Bossuet realizes that Enjolras has never seen Star Wars, which he finds outrageous enough to discard his papers and drag Joly away from his notes. They're an hour into “A New Hope” when Jehan comes to pick them up.

“You've never seen Star Wars?” Jehan asks baffled and glances towards Grantaire.

“If I had to spend my time forcing pop culture on him, I wouldn't have the energy to also keep him from getting himself killed.” Grantaire says and throws an arm around Jehan in greeting. “Who's this?” he asks, nodding to Feuilly, who has followed Jehan through the door.

“Alexandre. He's our transport.”

“Oooh! They told you?” Bossuet says, jumping over the back of the couch and enveloping Feuilly in a fierce hug.

“He needs air.” Joly says, hitting Bossuet's shoulder, and then immediately pulls Feuilly into an embrace of his own when Bossuet steps back.

“They did, although it suspiciously coincides with needing another car.” Feuilly says when he's released.

“Oh no, that's not it. John spent yesterday scolding us for keeping it a secret. We would tell Ariel too, but she's out of town until Tuesday.” Bossuet says. “But you're good? And all up to date? Martin wanted proof when he was told. Do you need to see some proof?”

“Enjolras can do a creepy eye thing.” Joly suggests.

“He lifts stuff too.” Grantaire says dryly. 

“Marius already lifted stuff. And we need to go.” Jehan points out. “Where's...?”

Grantaire inclines his head towards Enjolras, who is once again using the couch as cover. When the others stood up he had stayed in his spot, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. The way he watches Feuilly now is better than his reaction yesterday, but it is still a far cry from subtle.

Jehan smiles at the sight, and walks over to clasp Enjolras' arm. “There you are, my friend.” Jehan says and pulls Enjolras up from the floor.

“Here I am.” Enjolras smiles in return, his face lighting up at the touch, and briefly wraps an around Jehan in half a hug. Once he lets Jehan go again, he manages to introduce himself to Feuilly with something resembling casualty. Jehan grins at Grantaire behind Enjolras' back and starts shuffling all of them out of the door.

It turns out that Feuilly's car is meant for five, and not six people. Jehan does not see how this is a problem, and simply pushes at people until Bossuet, Joly, Enjolras and he himself are all sitting on top of each other in the backseat. By the way he looks deeply satisfied from behind the mass of tangled limbs, Grantaire starts suspecting that this might be an elaborate excuse to form a cuddle pile. Grantaire has been awarded with riding shotgun because of his, by now mostly healed, wound. But thankfully neither Joly or Bossuet seems to mind the forced cuddling. Joly starts whistling something from the Star Wars soundtrack before the car has even started, and Bossuet readily hums along. Feuilly promptly turns off the radio and starts humming too – mostly, it seems, to out-hum Bossuet whenever he gets too far off-key.

It doesn't feel like very long before Feuilly slows down and starts circling for a good parking spot - which Joly defines as 'close, but not too close'.

“Look Jehan.” Grantaire points. “That's where I got shot. Good times.”

Joly remarks – over Jehan's grumbles that Enjolras shoulder is blocking his view – that this actually looks like a fine spot, which is how they end up detouring to inspect a piece of pavement. It looks clean now, but judging by Enjolras' concerned expression, there is still some traces of blood scent left. Jehan seems fascinated by the spot, but quickly remembers himself and gets all of them to move along.

“Wait, how many of us are going in?” Grantaire asks when they reach the employee entrance, where Bahorel, Combeferre, Coufeyrac, Marius and Cosette are already waiting. “There can't possible be room for all of us, for one thing.”

“It's one of the bigger ones, so about five people, if you want to be able to move around – it depend on how much stuff there's in there, of course. I'll be staying out. Have to make sure none of the others notice you shouldn't be there.” Bahorel sounds almost gleeful at the prospect.

“Somebody should stay with the cars, in case we need a quick getaway.” Courfeyrac says, equally excited.

“Try not to sound so happy at the idea. Something needs to go very wrong before we need a quick getaway.” Combeferre reminds him calmly. ”But yes, the rest of us should stay with the cars.”

The picking of the five seems to fall naturally to Cosette, without anyone having to say so. Cosette and Grantaire are going, of course, and this means Enjolras too by extension, since Grantaire was shot the last time he was allowed out on his own. Besides, Grantaire generally works better with Enjolras around, and considering the circumstances, Enjolras really is the better choice over any of the muggles. Grantaire is ready to argue this point, but Cosette apparently sees the uses of a vampire and picks Enjolras before Grantaire can start persuading her. Marius is the next obvious choice, because werewolves can be very useful as well. This leaves one last spot, which is the only one Cosette hesitates over. She glances shortly at Bossuet, before deciding on Courfeyrac. To balance the human-monster ratio she says, sounding somewhat apologetic.

“Where do you imagine me on that scale?” Grantaire asks curiously.

“If we say you're half of each, that gives us a nice fifty-fifty monster-human balance.” Courfeyrac suggests.

“I'm not sure if we should be using 'Monster'. It has some very negative connotations.” Feuilly says while raising his hand, as if he is in a classroom.

“That depends... But you've never much liked Gaga, have you?” Bahorel says.

“Well – Gaga, yes. But that doesn't change the fact that the word has several....”

“We can brainstorm for a better term while we wait.” Combeferre interrupts and nods meaningfully towards the backdoor.

“Right.” Bahorel says. He unlocks the door by swiping a card and holds it open for the others to pass through. Joly and Bossuet waves at them as Bahorel lets the door fall closed again.

“Okay.” Bahorel whispers, pushing to get to the front of the line they've formed. “My name is Martin and I will be your tour guide today. Please refrain from taking pictures and keep you arms, legs and other miscellaneous appendages inside the vehicle at all times. Keep close and follow my instructions. Those who falls behind gets left behind, et cetera, et cetara. Now. We are only three guys at work the next few hours, so it shouldn't be too hard to evade the others. But if we do run into them, just act natural and pretend you aren't here to do something illegal. Marius probably shouldn't be allowed to speak with them.”

“What?” Marius says, blushing.

“You're not very good at lying, Honey.” Cosette explains softly

“He's been getting better. I've been training him.” Courfeyrac whispers.

“You have?” Marius asks. It earns a snort from Bahorel, before he shushes them and starts leading forward.

It takes them five minutes to get to the storage unit, and it only takes that long because Bahorel pauses to check that there isn't anyone behind every corner. They spend the time quietly discussing whether or not Marius is capable of subterfuge, occasionally interrupted when Bahorel makes them go silent. The discussion is eventually won by Enjolras, who surprisingly cuts in to pointedly ask how long Marius has been a werewolf.

“Okay. True.” Bahorel admits in a whisper “I never suspected you of being a werewolf.”

“My little hustler.” Courfeyrac says and grabs after Marius to ruffle his hair. “I taught you well.”

Bahorel shushes him and points at the turn in front of them. “This is the last one” he whispers, before going to look around it. This is rather unnecessary – as it has been with every corner before it, since Enjolras or Marius is able to hear anyone nearby - but when Grantaire had pointed this out earlier, Enjolras and Marius had agreed that Bahorel was clearly having too much fun to stop, and it couldn't hurt to be extra careful.

“Clear.” Bahorel calls, and they all obediently follow him around the corner.

“This one.” He says, pointing at one of the doors, and digs out a ring of keys from his pocket.

“Er...Martin? Why is the handle different?” Courfeyrac asks.

Bahorel stops and looks up from the keys. “Huh.”

While every other door in the building has been equipped with a gray door lever, the door Bahorel had indicated has a brass door knob.

“Well...that isn't allowed. Maybe he bribed someone.” He says and scratches at his head with the ring of keys. 

“That sounds ominous.” Grantaire mutters

“But the lock is hopefully still the same. Would be against safety regulation if we couldn't get in.” Bahorel continues and pushes a key into the lock. It goes in with a click.

“Don't.” Enjolras says and snatches Bahorel's hand away from the lock. “They changed it for a reason.”

“The door knob is a trap.” Courfeyrac says slowly.

“Can you feel it?” Enjolras asks Marius. “There's something at the door.”

Marius shuffles up to the door and hesitantly lifts his hand to hover a few hair breaths from the surface of the door.

“There's something.” He agrees hesitantly.

“Like a charge.” Enjolras says. Marius nods in agreement and moves a few steps back from the door.

“Like magic? You're sensing magic?” Courfeyrac asks.

“More or less.” Grantaire says. He can feel something to if he concentrates, but it weak enough that he wouldn't have noticed on his own. “But is it on the door, or from something behind the door?”

“I can't tell.” Enjolras says, shaking his head.

“If it is on the door, it would probably be something to keep people out.” Cosette says.

“There's a very quick way to find out.” Bahorel says, nodding towards the door knob and reaching out with his hand. Grantaire nearly jumps forward to stop him, but Enjolras gets there first.

“No.” Enjolras growls and forcefully pulls Bahorel out of arms reach of the door. Grantaire sighs in relief and reaches out to make Enjolras unclench the grip he has on Bahorel's t-shirt. Bahorel thankfully seems unconcerned by the display.

“We do need to look in there.” Bahorel points out, while straightening his t-shirt. “And unless you have a better idea it's the quickest solution.”

“Not you.” Grantaire says. “If it's something harmful you are far too easily broken.” 

Enjolras – who knows Grantaire well enough to see where this is going - snaps his head away from Bahorel to stare at Grantaire, alarmed. Grantaire raises an eyebrow and waits for Enjolras to accept his reasoning. He wins after only half a heartbeat when resignation settles on Enjolras' face like there's a bad taste in his mouth. 

“It would be an interesting way to go, at least.” Bahorel says. “'Killed by magic door knob' would look good on my gravestone.”

“I though you wanted 'Exit, pursued by bear'” Courfeyrac says.

“And we need you to make sure nobody comes and throws us out.” Cosette says. She wraps a small hand around Bahorel's arm and gently guides him a few steps further away from the door.

Marius steps in to take Bahorel's previous spot – effectively blocking Bahorel's path to the door at the same time. Grantaire firmly interrupts when Marius starts opening his mouth to speak.

“Not you either.” Grantaire says. “The bullet he shot me with suggests they're prepared for the supernatural. If it happens to be something anti-werewolf you would go down much faster than a regular human would. Designing it for non-human people would be much safer too - in case of curious employees grabbing a key.” He nods toward Bahorel.

“Which leaves you.” Marius says. 

“Doesn't matter what it's meant for, I'm enough of both to be fine. And Enjolras can always fix me.” Grantaire shrugs. He slowly reaches for the door knob and pauses with his hand just above it. “Any better suggestions?” He asks, mostly towards Cosette.

Cosette glances at Enjolras, who is dangerously tense but resolutely stays silent. Everybody else looks unhappy but stays quiet as well. Cosette shakes her head slightly.

“This is all guesswork. It might be nothing.” Grantaire points out and turns the door knob.

There's pain. No more than a short prick, but it's– embarrassingly – still enough to make Grantaire exclaim in surprise and pull his hand away. Enjolras is at his back instantly, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand still.

“Blood.” Enjolras says and slowly turns Grantaire's hand to inspect it. Grantaire's heart is hammering too fast and much too loudly in his chest. It's distracting enough that it takes Grantaire several seconds to understand the single drop of blood running down the palm of his hand.

“It pricked me.” Grantaire laughs breathlessly. He feels Enjolras nod. “That's actually quite clever.” Grantaire muses.

“Why?” Bahorel asks.

“You've got power over someone if you have their blood.” Cosette explains softly. “With that you can do just about anything to them. Grantaire isn't opening the door now - and neither is Enjolras. You gave him your blood yesterday, right? That means it got yours too.”

“I know.” Enjolras says. He briefly tightens his grip on Grantaire's wrist before letting it go.

“My turn then.” Marius says and moves forward. 

Grantaire hesitates in front of the door knob, unwilling to let Marius touch it. But if it isn't Marius it's one of the regular humans, Grantaire reminds himself, and reluctantly steps aside to let him come through.

“Don't touch the middle.” Grantaire warns.

Marius cautiously wraps his hand around the sides of the knob, making sure to keep a careful distance from the middle. He pauses and looks questioningly to Grantaire, who moves back to inspect his grip. Grantaire briefly compares with his own hand before nodding in approval and stepping back again.

Marius turns the knob slowly. Almost immediately, a little needle shoots out of the middle of the door knob and disappears again, moving fast enough to be a blur. Marius pauses a moment before turning the knob the rest of the way. The click of the latch seems impossibly loud, and then Marius quickly pulls up the door.

Nothing happens.

“That was a little anticlimactic.” Bahorel whispers.

What's behind the door looks very much like a storage unit is supposed to. There's rows upon rows of miscellaneous boxes, the vast majority of them made of cardboard. The only odd thing is how orderly it's been organized. Every box has been carefully placed on the shelves, which are lining every wall. There's nothing on the floor and no boxes are stacked on top of each other. 

“Anticlimactic is good.” Enjolras says, staring warily into the room.

Marius takes two steps into the room and, after a pause, slowly spins around, checking every corner and above the door. Nothing continues happening.

“You still feel it?” Grantaire asks Enjolras.

“Yes.”

“Could be something in one of the boxes.” Grantaire guesses. “Doesn't explain the tricky door knob though.”

“Maybe the door knob is just meant to scare people off.” Marius suggests. 

“Maybe there's a normal, technological alarm, and the door knob is meant to slow us down, so they have time to get here and catch us.” Courfeyrac suggests. 

There's a brief moment of silence as they all digests this.

“In which case you better speed this up.” Bahorel says “I'll go stand guard. Call me when you're done, and please don't break more than you need to.” He pushes Cosette gently toward the door before disappearing behind the corner and leaving them.

“I guess we're just going to go through the boxes then?” Courfeyrac asks, walking into the room and inspecting the content of a shelve placed in the middle of floor, which separates the room in two. 

“Look for anything related to mirrors.” Cosette says, as she follows him in. Marius is there to take her hand with a soft smile when she crosses the threshold. She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, before stepping away and going to the shelve against the back wall.

Grantaire hesitates a moment, glancing at Enjolras who is watching the others intently – as if he's suspecting that there might be some damage, subtly hidden from sight – before shrugging and walking in himself.

He realizes that he has made a mistake the instant his feet touches the floor on the other side of the threshold, when icy cold shoots up his leg and climbs upward until it's covering every inch of skin. Alarmingly, his body doesn't stop moving, but continues walking onwards as if nothing is happening. He only gets to feel that alarm for half a step before the cold has sunk all the way in, and a foggy numbness dampens everything. 

His thoughts are still there. But. They're slower. Crawling. An insistent pressure covering his mind. Muffling everything. His thoughts are very distant. Spotty. His heartbeat seems too slow.

He's at one of the shelves. There's a knife between two boxes. The knife is in his hand. This isn't good. He turns the knife to -

**“Stop.”**

Grantaire stops. His pulse is very slow. There's a weight in his chest. Unpleasant even through the fog because it increases with every breath. He doesn't think he is getting enough air. His chest too cold to expand all the way.

**“Give me the knife.”**

Grantaire turns around. Lets the knife leave his hand. He knows he is relieved but can't feel it. Can't feel anything. It's painful. Paradoxically. Nothing but cold and empty pressure. He wants to scream.

There's a tingle running up his spine. And please. It should stop. Only a pinprick of blood. It can't last long. It's unbearable. It's -

The spell collapses like a balloon popping. The cold vanishes from one moment to the next and there's a sudden explosion of sound, color and feeling; sensation rushing back in like air filling a vacuum. His head feels much too loud. 

Grantaire's legs folds beneath him when he suddenly regains control of them. A strong grip on both of his arms slows his descent.

“It's okay, I've got you. I've got you.” Enjolras murmurs and moves a hand up Grantaire's arm to curl around the back of his neck.

“Fuck.” Grantaire gasps, leaning into Enjolras' touch. His heartbeat is all over the place, as if to make up for earlier, and he is sucking in air until it feels like his lungs will burst before breathing out - and it's such a relief, finally filling them properly. 

“Grantaire, look at me.” Enjolras says, thumb rubbing soothingly over Grantaire's pulse point, and it's not an order but it's very close to one.

Grantaire hadn't realized his eyes had closed with the way color is still bursting behind them. He opens them and tilts his head up to meet Enjolras's eyes. His face is radiant – is always radiant – and now the sight burns a little – but it's a sweet burn. Familiar lines burning brighter than usual. 

“There you are.” Enjolras exhales, having found what he was looking for in Grantaire's eyes. The relief makes his radiance grow. Grantaire blinks several times, which gradually dims it down to something much closer to normal.

“Yes. No-one but you and me in here.” Grantaire agrees shakily. 

It's a testament to how unsettled Enjolras is that he mutters “Good” to that, grip tightening around the back of Grantaire's neck and something wild briefly flashing through his eyes.

“Enjolras.” Courfeyrac says, crouching down next to them - appearing out of nowhere for Grantaire, who hadn't noticed the other three hovering around them. “You can't stay on the floor. Come R, there's a nice chair over there.” He grips both Enjolras' and Grantaire's arm and pulls them up. Enjolras unhands Grantaire and lets Courfeyrac guide him around a shelve, where there indeed is a chair - and a little round table to go with it.

“I think,” Grantaire says once he's been placed in the chair. “That this proves we are dealing with bad, bad people.”

“Just this? You were shot.” Coufeyrac reminds him gently.

“There's a great difference,” Enjolras says quietly “between shooting someone and controlling their minds.” 

“That's...” Cosette begins with a sharp edge to her voice, but cuts herself off immediately. Courfeyrac looks questioningly to her but she simply shakes her head. Ignoring them, Enjolras tips Grantaire's head up to check his eyes again. For a brief moment, Grantaire feels a tingling warmth burst at the back of his mind. His heartbeat and breathing seems to settle under the attention.

“What were you going to do?” Marius asks Grantaire in a soft tone and with a half anxious - half resigned look on his face that proves he already knows the answer.

Grantaire gently pulls Enjolras hand away from his chin before answering. He smiles sadly at Marius and silently mimes stabbing himself in the stomach.

“Even if -” Marius says haltingly. “I mean. Mind control is bad in itself. But they could just have forced you to leave, instead of – What if somebody who worked here got curious about the door knob? They wouldn't know what it meant. Any of it.”

Making Grantaire leave wouldn't have worked. He could just return as soon as the spell wore out. Forcing him to stab himself was actually a good solution if the person making it didn't know how many people there would be. If there's only one person, the stabbing would effectively stop any stealing. If there's more than one, the other people would have to stop and take the person to a hospital before they bled out. But Marius' point is still very valid. This setup indicates a great disregard for innocent bystanders.

“The reason they've installed such a spell, and not just put in an automatic flamethrower, is probably so they can't be blamed if something happened to anybody. This way it looks like suicide - A very grisly, very oddly timed and placed suicide ” Grantaire says.

“Bad people.” Courfeyrac says darkly, with determination settling on his face. 

“You'd need a strong witch to make that spell. It was very powerful, considering the amount of blood it was based on.” Cosette says.

“Many of the really good ones do freelance work.” Grantaire shrugs, “Doesn't necessarily mean there is a witch directly involved with this. Just means whoever owns this place has money.”

“Means it probably isn't just the guy with the mirror. He didn't seem the type to have any considerable wealth.” Courfeyrac points out. “We should start on the boxes. See if we can find anything.” He says and goes for one of the shelves. Enjolras follows right behind him and manages to grab a box right out of Courfeyrac's hands. 

“Maybe you should let me and Marius check the boxes before you open them. Just in case.” Enjolras suggests. Marius nods eagerly in agreement.

They set up a system. Enjolras and Marius both thoroughly inspects and opens each box, before handing them over so the other three can riffle through them. None of the first boxes sets of any of their combined spider-senses – and Grantaire actually isn't sure if cardboard can sustain a proper spell – but after the doorway safe is definitely better than sorry. 

The first two boxes are filled with books. Enjolras is the one who knows the most languages, but none of them are in any he can read. Judging by the pictures though, most - if not all of them – are about the supernatural. Courfeyrac eventually finds a slim blue volume decorated with gold leaf, which he recognizes as being written in Hebrew. After leafing through it Grantaire makes an educated guess that it's about blood magic, and makes the decision to dump it back among the other books - lest Jehan, who can read Hebrew, sees it and gets any ideas.

The third box contains plastic bags filled with sand. Each is carefully labeled with the name of a destinations from around the world. The fourth box has little containers of dried plants. These are also thoroughly labeled, with a name in English, Latin and a third language none of them knows. The fifth box is filled with packs of bullets. This is where it gets really interesting, because they all have a small silver tip and a surface covered in tiny carvings.

“I think it's multipurpose bullets.” Grantaire says and spins a bullet slowly between his fingers to see all of the carvings. “I know some of these and they're all harmful but not for the same things. That squiggle scares of spirits, the silver is enough to hurt a werewolf if you get the heart, and depending on the shooter that one might bother Enjolras... Oh! That means he didn't necessarily know what I was, he just knew I wasn't all human.”

Courfeyrac, who has been leaning over Grantaire's shoulder to see, puts a couple of the packs in his pockets while muttering something about bad people and liberating for the common good. After a pause he stuffs two packs down Marius' pants as well. 

“Could they be some sort of hunters?” Courfeyrac suggests.

“Most hunters wouldn't work with witches. Certainly not to put up that kind of spell.” Cosette says and gently puts down a bullet she has been expecting.

“There is too much for it to be hunters.” Enjolras says, and drops another open box on the table - this one also containing packs of bullets. “This would surely cover several years worth of activity for a group of hunters. And I don't know what hunters would be doing with the sand and herbs either.”

“Well, you wouldn't want to run out of bullets.” Grantaire grins. “And I know there's a few things you can do with the right plants, even though you need magic of your own to pull of most of the impressive stuff. But yes, I agree. This is higher up the food chain. We're dealing with merchants, and this storage unit appears to be their storage.” 

“Merchants of the supernatural?” Cosette asks

“Yes. You've never...?” Grantaire asks, surprised when Cosette shakes her head. “How would you get silver bullets then, if you needed some?”

“My father knows how to make them.” Cosette says

“Your father wouldn't happen to be a hunter, would he?” Grantaire asks curiously.

“No.” Cosette says firmly. “He's a police officer.”

“Who makes silver bullets?”

“A police officer who knows how to deal with unusual criminals.”

“Okay...” Grantaire says, and makes a mental note to stay on her father's good side. “I guess that silver bullets are manageable, but what if you needed something more obscure?...Take Enjolras, for instance. How would you go about killing him?”

Enjolras pauses from tapping a wooden chest suspiciously, and turns to look at them. Grantaire merely shrugs.

“Destroy his heart or cut off his head.” Cosette answers without needing a pause to think. Grantaire isn't really surprised.

“Well, yes, effective - but how would you do that? Enjolras is stronger and faster than you and not inclined to cooperate. You could of course even the odds by shooting him first, preferably from a great distance, but you need to get several bullets in him if you want it to actually weaken him. Otherwise you've just got a bloodthirsty vampire who's pissed at you. If you get enough bullets in him that would also do the job, but you need to do it fast too, so he doesn't just go for your neck after the first shot. Better bring a couple of people if you want that to have a chance of working. Or werewolves, if you have a couple of those lying around” Grantaire says, waving to Marius. “Or you could use one of the many things vampires are allergic to, and go cut his head off while he's convulsing on the floor. That's where a merchant is useful, because most of the effective stuff can't be bought in your standard supermarket. Dead blood for instance. Enjolras once ingested half a cup of that and he spend the next twelve hours vomiting up his last meal. But unless you work in a hospital or are willing to kill people it is kind of hard to get your hands on.”

“This doesn't bother you?” Courfeyrac asks Enjolras in a stage whisper

“Not at all.” Enjolras answers. “I find it reassuring.”

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow and looks about to comment when Marius interrupts.

“Guys.” Marius calls, his voice serious enough to get their attention instantly. He carries over the same wooden chest that Enjolras had been studying before. Courfeyrac removes the box of bullets to make room for it on the table.

“This looks similar to the ones on the knife.” Marius says, indicating the pattern of carvings that decorate the top of the lid.

“Oh, well done Marius.” Courfeyrac enthuses. “Do you get any vibes from it, or can we open it without protective gloves?”

“I don't feel anything.” Marius says. He nonetheless hesitates and pushes Courfeyrac a few steps back with a hand on his shoulder. Grantaire obediently scoots his chair backwards as well, and then a little to the side to cover more of Cosette should there be a blast radius.

When Marius opens the chest, there is no outward effect but the creak of the hinges. It seems that Marius has a gift for opening things without horrible outcomes. Inside the chest is sixteen glass flasks. Four of them contains...something. 

The content is most definitely silver in color, but whether it is gas or a liquid Grantaire cannot tell. The substances have slightly different shades of silver in all four flasks and they are all moving, swirling slowly in their containers. The gas/liquids glitters, a constantly shifting pattern of little sparks that illuminate them from within.

“Grantaire?” Marius asks.

“I don't know.” Grantaire answers. He reaches out for one of the flasks, but stops himself from picking it up. He doesn't want to jostle them - not because he fears any more traps, no, whatever the glas/liquid is, it is giving him a very clear feeling of harmlessness – but he is somehow certain that shaking the flask would be disrespectful.

“But it must be connected to the mirror and the knife, right?” Courfeyrac says.

“That seems like a reasonable assumption.” Cosette says.

“We should let Jehan look at it.” Enjolras says. “He's actually experienced the mirror. He might be able to tell something.”

Courfeyrac calls Bahorel and gets him to bring Jehan too. While they wait for him they open more boxes; finding even more herbs, silver bullets, several types of ink, feathers from various species of bird and a collection of semi-precious stones.

“I think I could make a decent Mardi Gras costume out of that if you just found some fabric.” Jehan says when he gets there.

“I'm very disappointed in you. You don't need fabric, just use the ink as body paint. I've found five different colors so far.” Courfeyrac says and waves about a bottle of reddish-brown ink for emphasis.

“You really shouldn't put that one on your skin.” Enjolras says and swaps the bottle in Courfeyrac's hand with a bottle of blue ink instead.

“Martin said that we have to go soon.” Jehan informs them apologetically.

“That's okay. I think we've found what we were looking for.” Grantaire says nodding to the chest, while Enjolras pulls Jehan up to the table.

“Woah” Jehan says, staring at the flasks in awe. He hesitantly reaches out after one of the flasks before stopping himself, just as Grantaire had done. “What is it?” He asks with wonder.

“We don't know, but we think it might be connected to the mirror and knife.” Enjolras answers.

Jehan tears his eyes away from the flasks to look questioningly up at them.

“The mirror affected you. We thought you might be able to feel something.” Grantaire explains with a shrug.

Jehan reaches out again and timidly touches the glass surface of a flask with one finger. He lets it rest there for several seconds, before sighing. “It's - I don't know...” Jehan murmurs.

“Does it feel similar to the mirror?” Grantaire asks.

“Not at all.” Jehan says.

“It probably shouldn't.” Cosette guesses “If we assume that what the mirror did was the process, and this is the product.” She points to the flasks. “There's no reason they should feel similar.”

“That's not very helpful.” Jehan sighs. He closes his eyes and makes a thoughtful expression before eventually pronouncing “It feels...deep.”

“Deep?” Courfeyrac prompts gently.

“Like it's more than it appears.” Jehan frowns and carefully removes his finger.

“It's symbolic.” Grantaire says. “Most things in magic are. It's not actually a glowing liquid; the liquid represents something abstract. Something without a concrete form.”

“Such as?” Jehan asks curiously.

“Like memories.” Courfeyrac says, suddenly excited. “It looks a little like the memories in Harry Potter.”

“...It kinda does.” Marius agrees, leaning across the table to get a better look.

Grantaire tilts his head. It could be memories, he supposes. If the mirror had been extracting memories, it could explain how Jehan had gotten his old ones back when Grantaire broke it. The reason for going after reincarnated people was to get really old memories then. Grantaire couldn't think of any magic where older memories would be preferable. But then again, there were without a doubt a great many things he didn't know. Still...

“Stabbing someone doesn't seem right if it's memories. People lose memories all the time. Something that dramatic shouldn't be necessary if it's memories you're trying to steal.” Grantaire says.

“So it's something abstract that people hold on to so tightly that you have to stab them to get it?” Jehan muses.

“If they're stabbing people to get it, _what it is_ isn't our greatest concern.” Cosette points out. “Wouldn't merchants very likely know how to get a replacement knife and mirror? If they didn't already have a back-up set lying around? The guy could be looking for new victims right now.”

“We don't know if he was actually going to stab me, do we?” Jehan asks. “I mean, R, you jumped him as soon as he pulled the knife, right? Maybe he was just going to draw a little blood.”

“Yes – he _was_ pointing it toward your chest in a stabby way – but yes.” Grantaire says.

“We do know, actually.” Cosette says in an odd tone of voice. She clears her throat awkwardly and starts playing with the ends of her hair. When Grantaire tries to catch her eyes she looks away. “I showed a picture of the knife to my father, and he – well. A few weeks ago two bodies were found – eight days apart – each with a stab wound in the chest that looks to match the knife.”

The blood drains from Jehan's face while Enjolras goes very still. Neither Marius or Courfeyrac looks shocked at the news. They already knew.

“There's four flasks.” Jehan says, his voice shaking.

“Might be getting better at disposing of the bodies, or maybe they are from somewhere else.” Grantaire says distantly. He's busy looking to Enjolras, trying to read his blank expression.

“You might have told us that before.” Enjolras says eventually, his voice very very calm, and Grantaire isn't sure if Enjolras is angry with the merchants or Cosette or the worlds injustice in general or any combination of the three. The uncertainty isn't good, it makes it hard for Grantaire to intervene appropriately.

“I probably should have.” Cosette agrees, before inexplicably turning to Grantaire and asking: “How's your stomach?”

Grantaire blinks at her in surprise. “Good? It's...It doesn't hurt.”

“You feel better? Not tired, like yesterday?”

Grantaire nods dumbly, still thrown.

“And the spell?”

“It's all gone.” Grantaire manages. “I'm fine now.”

“You're fine now. Good. Then I think we need to talk about this.” Cosette says and points between Grantaire and Enjolras. “But let's not do it here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am perhaps a little sleep deprived so this may not be wise, but I want this chapter done and over with (I think they're steadily getting longer. That was never the plan. I clearly suck at planning) - so here we go.  
> Also, should probably warn that I have exams coming soon, so the next chapter will most certainly take even longer than usual (I'm a terrible, horrible, slow writer-person. I'm sorry)


	7. Chapter 7

“Can we use Jehan as a character witness?” Grantaire asks, with some vitriol in his voice. He's grateful that they're concerned for him, really, and he definitely understands the cause of their worry, but this is going to get personal and embarrassing very quickly, and Enjolras already have more than enough issues with the thrall thing.

“This isn't a trial.” Courfeyrac says, while taking a seat on a swing. After packing everything up as well as they could in the storage unit, they have now driven to a deserted playground. The location was Jehan's idea, since none of their apartments are big enough for all of them at once. It was probably an attempt at keeping the mood light, but Grantaire has to admit that there's also some advantage to being on neutral ground should anybody's superinstincts go into overdrive. 

“Not a very good trial at least. Seems to me that judge, jury and executioner is the same people.” Grantaire says curtly.

“R.” Jehan chastises, at the same time as Enjolras calmly calls “Grantaire.”, instantly getting his attention.

“They're worried about you.” Enjolras reminds him, in a carefully neutral voice.”Which is very understandable.” 

What worries Grantaire is that Enjolras will agree with any interjection they could possibly have about Grantaire's thralldom. He hates it with a fire that is, if not stronger, then at least more devastating to himself than any other of the world's injustices. It doesn't take more than a word one the subject to make him flinch, and an actual conversation makes him start crumbling with guilt. 

Usually there is a distinct possibility that Enjolras will immediately fold under an accusation without defending himself properly – especially now, considering that their friends are going to be the ones bringing it up. Today though, today someone took control of Grantaire's mind and nearly made him stab himself. Only two days ago someone shot him. Right now there is possessive anger burning close beneath Enjolras' skin, which means he might go to the other extreme and start growling at their friends. At the moment the two responses seems to be balancing each other out enough to make Enjolras reasonable, but Grantaire isn't sure which way Enjolras will go when they start pushing.

“What do you want to know?” Enjolras asks, turning around a little to look at all of them. Cosette is sitting on top of a slide, with Marius standing on the ground next to her. Courfeyrac, Joly and Jehan is on the swings, with Combeferre standing behind and occasionally pushing them a few inches. Meanwhile Bossuet and Feuilly have made themselves comfortable on top of the monkey bars. Bahorel is the only one not there, on account of his job, but has promised to come as soon as the shift officially ends.

“My father...” Cosette begins and hesitates, shifting a little where she sits. And okay, point to Jehan, because it really is harder taking her as a threat when she is sitting on top of a little red slide. She plays nervously with the ends of her hair. “The reason I didn't tell you about the bodies is because my father killed the last vampire who he discovered was making thralls.”

Enjolras flinches slightly at that, but his face doesn't change and his voice is still perfectly calm when he says “I can't say I disagree with that solution.” - They've done the same thing themselves actually. It's never something they deliberately looked for, but every time they run into a thrall Enjolras always attempts to convince the vampire behind of his or hers wrongs. When the vampire inevitably loses their patience this often evolves into a fight, which haven't exactly ended badly for Enjolras yet. It happened a little too often for Grantaire's liking the first hundred years, but have quieted down a great deal since then. According to Raoul this is because Enjolras now has seniority and a reputation for being very hard to kill, meaning that European vampires have started actively avoiding them. Enjolras _is_ very good in a fight, especially if the opposing vampire tries using mind tricks, but his greatest advantage is that everybody disregards Grantaire until he's right behind them and is forcing something pointy through their heart.

“You haven't ever met a thrall, have you? Other than me?” Grantaire cuts in. “Because then you'd know that there is a great big difference between me and regular thralls.”

“I know that Grantaire.” Cosette answers. “No, I haven't met anyone else, I told you that, but from what I do know it's clear you're different. That's why you should stay away from my father, because he's...he has a tendency to see the world in black or white. And I'm afraid he would act prematurely in your case. - But...You still decided to make a thrall.” She says to Enjolras, who flinches again. “Which is very worrisome, no matter how - how well-adjusted you both seem. It's still mind-control and slavery.”

Enjolras makes short whining noise in the back of throat, low enough that it's probably only Grantaire and the werewolves who hears it.

“First of all; we are in no way well-adjusted. I don't know where you get that.” Grantaire says. “Secondly, there is no slavery or mind-control. Enjolras has never gotten anything from me that he wasn't more than welcome to have. And _I know_ -” Grantaire continues, raising his voice before anyone can comment. “I know that you might not take my word for it, but if you ask Jehan he'll agree with me that Enjolras would be the last person to force me to do anything against my will.”

“I do.” Jehan says

“But that's still - ” Courfeyrac says. “- That still leaves the fact that you made a thrall. If Grantaire is a special snowflake, different from every other thrall, you couldn't possibly have known he wouldn't lose his mind when you decided to make him.”

“I didn't _decide_.” Enjolras says, the low rumble of a growl appearing on the last word. “I didn't mean to. He'd been shot and I gave him my blood. I would never purposely do that.”

“It doesn't work like that.” Cosette interrupts. “You can't _accidentally_ make a thrall.”

“Clearly you can.” Grantaire disagrees. “Trust me, he didn't even know what a thrall was until long after he made me.”

“It's not just exchanging blood; the vampire has to actively bind the humans mind to his will.” Cosette says. “If Enjolras wasn't doing it on purpose, I don't know what his thoughts must have been like to do it accidentally.”

“Something controlling, I suppose?” Combeferre suggests.

“He was dying!” Enjolras snaps and now something wild is flashing in his eyes again. “I _wasn't_ thinking. I couldn't find his pulse and there wasn't enough blood in either of us, but - He had to be okay. I needed him to stay. He was the only one left and he was dying and _it was because of me_.”

“Enjolras.” Jehan is the one to say soothingly, because Grantaire is simply staring at Enjolras in stunned silence.

“I wanted – I needed him to stay. With me. That's what I was thinking.” Enjolras says, raising his head to look directly at Cosette. “He can do whatever he wants, as long as he stays alive. That's the rule we agreed on – I'm allowed to order him to keep him safe.” 

It's a challenge; his words and the way his eyes never wavers from Cosette's. _Achilles_ , Grantaire can't help thinking, with the setting sun painting Enjolras' hair in a red light and the possessive anger rolling off of him.

Grantaire reaches new-found levels of respect for Cosette in that moment. She unflinchingly meets Enjolras' gaze and barely hesitates before saying “You should let him go.”

Enjolras does growl then - a loud rumbling noise that Grantaire can feel reverberating through his bones - and takes half a step forward. Marius shifts slightly in his spot in front of the slide, a placement that Grantaire only now realizes puts him right between Cosette and Enjolras. It's irrelevant of course - because Enjolras would never attack Cosette, and Marius wouldn't start anything himself – but for a moment Grantaire's mind drifts to the knife strapped to his leg.

Jehan reaches Enjolras' side then and touches his arm. The growl cuts off instantly. A guilty twitch passes over Enjolras' face as he glances at Jehan, and he deliberately takes a step back again.

“He'd die.” Enjolras tells Jehan quietly in French, his voice shaky.

Courfeyrac follows a few steps behind Jehan - and Grantaire had thought it was out of worry for Jehan's safety, but judging from the careful way Courfeyrac looks at Enjolras, it was another person he had been concerned for.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says, gently, drawing his attention. “Nobody doubts that you love him. You're trying to take care of each other, I get that. What we're questioning is whether this is the best way to do it. I don't think you can see this entirely rationally. You said – in the storage unit – you _implied_ that mind-control is worse than shooting someone, but isn't that what you're doing here? You're risking his mind to keep him safe?”

“There is _no mind-control_.” Grantaire repeats firmly. He glances towards Cosette who's come down from the slide and is stepping closer as well. “What you saw with the knife is the worst we do, and in such cases Enjolras is more than welcome in my head. I am very grateful that you're concerned for me, but it really is _none_ of your business - _I don't want to be let go!_ ”

“The problem isn't outright mind-control.” Cosette says. “What worries us is what happens to thralls over time. They lose their mind, Grantaire, you have to already know that.”

“There's nothing wrong with Grantaire's mind.” Enjolras snaps, a low growl detectable beneath the words.

“It's gradual, Enjolras. He's fine now, but you can't know it won't effect him eventually.”

“That's what you're worried about? The effect over time?” Enjolras asks and breathes out a short humorless laugh. “I bound Grantaire to me 182 years ago.”

The sharp inhale Grantaire makes is clearly heard in the startled silence that follows Enjolras' words.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire murmurs “Did you think that through?”

“No.” Enjolras admits, but his satisfied smile shows no hint of regret. In one sentence he has won the discussion - and seems to have redirected the focus of conversation pretty effectively as well. 

“You told me you were human when you knew Jehan.” Cosette says looking to Grantaire, and although she's trying to hide it, she is clearly hurt at the perceived lie.

“I was.” Grantaire assures her quickly “I haven't lied.” he adds, unsure how else to proceed. He looks at Enjolras for help.

“Technically it wasn't me. Not _me_ -me” Jehan cuts in. “In 1832 a young man called Jean Prouvaire died - Jehan to his friends. And I'm – I don't look the same, but I'm similar in every way that counts. The parts that matter.”

Grantaire sighs. They are definitely not getting around the reincarnation-thing now.“I think your forehead looks somewhat the same.” He says.

“It doesn't.” Enjolras says.

“No? Sorry, it's been a while.” Grantaire tells Jehan.

“You're saying you knew them in a past life.” Combeferre says very carefully, curiousity burning in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“How long have you known that – that you were reincarnated?” Courfeyrac asks frowning, while he places a hand on Jehan's shoulder and studies his face.

“Since the mirror. It gave me back my old memories when it broke.”

“I knew you didn't use to speak French!” Marius exclaims. Jehan blinks at him in startled surprise.

“I didn't.” Jehan agrees.

“You were French, then?...and you died in 1832.” Combeferre muses.

“June 1832 in Paris. And we're barely a footnote in history, so I will be very impressed if you know what happened then that got young men killed.” Grantaire tells Combeferre.

“I'm afraid I don't know.” Combeferre admits. “But I'm guessing you were revolutionaries of some sort?”

“Long live the republic.” Grantaire grins darkly, and sees Enjolras twitch out of the corner of his eye.

“This was the same thing that nearly got you killed?” Courfeyrac asks, looking between Grantaire and Enjolras.

“More importantly.” Joly says. “You weren't the only ones of us there, were you?”

And there it is.

“Ohhh...” Bossuet says, his face lighting up.

“You mean...?” Courfeyrac asks. Joly answers with a gesture encompassing all of them.

“That actually makes sense.” Marius says, glancing at Enjolras, whose eyes have gone very wide.

“Grantaire kept calling you Joly.” Bossuet says

“...And Enjolras acted strange every time he met someone.” Cosette says.

“Who?... is it all of us?” Feuilly asks.

“All of us.” Jehan answers, grinning excitedly now. He's practically vibrating, Grantaire notes.

“That does explain why you've been so helpful.” Courfeyrac says. “182 years is a long time ago though. Did you miss us terribly or are your memory just very good?” He asks, and it's meant as a jest, he's grinning slightly – but then he glances at Enjolras and sees the look on his face.

“Both.” Enjolras answers in a fragile voice. Courfeyrac makes a distressed noise and grabs after Enjolras.

“Oh god, I'm sorry. That was insensitive. That was – oh god, your face. ” Courfeyrac says while hurriedly wrapping Enjolras in a tight hug. “I'm sorry. That was terrible. I'm a terrible person, you shouldn't have missed me.”

“182 years _is_ a long time. How did you even find us?” Feuilly asks Grantaire.

“We didn't - we weren't looking.” Grantaire admits. “I just...I was here looking for someone else actually and I – I stumbled over Joly, er... Julien.”

“ You - Oh.” Joly says, recognition blooming on his face. “I'd forgotten that. You tripped.” 

“And then I did look, and I found Jehan.”

“And you freaked out.” Jehan supplies. “I thought you were possessed or something, the way you were staring.”

“At least I was more restrained than when you first recognized Combeferre.” Grantaire counters.

“There is nothing wrong with hugging people.” Jehan says primly.

“Who's Combeferre?” Bossuet asks, pronouncing it very carefully. 

“Raymond.” Jehan answers.

“What was my name?” Bossuet asks curiously.

“Laigle de Meaux. Or L'Aigle or Legle, or Lesgle – opinions differed, although I think it originated as Lesgueules?” Jehan says.

“We abbreviated it to Bossuet.” Grantaire says.

Bossuet gapes at them.

“I think we need to redo introductions.” Joly says. “Or get name tags.”

“Martin used to work in a kindergarten, I'm sure he knows some name songs we can try.” Combeferre suggests.

“Jehan.” Marius interupts. “It was the mirror that made you remember your old life?” He asks.

“I broke it.” Grantaire reminds him. “I'm pretty sure it wasn't what the guy meant for it to do.”

“But you think he's going after reincarnated people, right? That was what you meant when you said we shared some..... important characteristics, was it? When you were worried he would come after us next?” Marius asks.

“Yes.” Grantaire says. “Because the mirror froze Jehan, but had no effect on me.”

“You think it only works on reincarnated people because it didn't work on you? Couldn't it be because you're not entirely human?” Cosette asks.

“The mirror should still have affected me if that was the case, just less than it affected Jehan. Magic still works on me – as demonstrated earlier with the door knob – generally I'm just a little more resistant to it than regular humans. But I didn't even feel tingly with the mirror.” Grantaire says.

“Then – if it only works on reincarnated people - there's a pretty big chance that he'll be going after one of us next. Assuming that he does have a spare mirror and knife, of course.” Marius concludes and gently takes hold of Cosette's hand. “Perhaps, with some help from your father - “

“- we could lay a trap.” Cosette finishes.

“Exactly.”

***

The plan is very simple. One of them will play bait, walking alone down some deserted street and letting the guy corner them with the mirror. Meanwhile, some of the others will be hiding nearby filming the proceedings, and will jump in as soon as the guy pulls the knife. Once he is overpowered, they will call Cosette's father, who will take him and make sure he will be charged with as much as can be made to stick. The recording of his attack will be a good start, but if they're lucky the knife can be matched up with the two stabbings and the guy will be put away for a long time.

Grantaire is a little impressed with this plan. If it works they will definitely be rid of the guy, completely legally. It's a solution that he would never have thought of himself. This is probably caused by his long association with Enjolras, but Grantaire is just not used to police enforcement working in his favor like that.

There's the issue of setting the bait somewhere that the guy will go and _find_ it. Assuming that he is in fact going to be attacking one of them anyway, he will most likely come to them. Judging by his attack on Jehan, he presumably prefers working at night while his victims are drunk. This narrows it down a bit. Enjolras, Bossuet and Marius can look for traces of him around all of their usual bars and nightclubs; if he is or has been anywhere nearby lately their noses are good enough to pick it up. 

Since it's Saturday night and the sky is darkening quickly, they already have an opportunity tonight. It does however turn out that Grantaire has one issue with this plan though.

“Grantaire can't go.” Cosette says as she slumps down into the pile of blankets on the couch. 

They've relocated to Combeferre and Jehan's apartment at this point, since the playground eventually got too dark and cold to be comfortable for the humans. By now the plan have already been mostly hashed out, only needing to pick the spots, so Bahorel, Joly and Bossuet have taken the opportunity to leave briefly, supposedly to get supplies although they were whispering conspiratorially about something at the time. This does however mean that there's just enough room in the apartment to passably fit the rest of them.

“What?! No.” Grantaire says

“Why?” Enjolras asks Cosette, sounding much too reasonable in Grantaire's opinion. Having calmed down – greatly helped by Courfeyrac's extensive hugging and newly developed inclination to stand near Enjolras – any hostility Enjolras had shown toward Cosette has vanished. It's the complete opposite by now, actually. Very few people in the supernatural community takes any notice of a vampire with a thrall. Cosette caring enough to challenge Enjolras on the issue is more than enough to permanently endear her to him.

“I told you; there'll be trouble if my father knows you made a thrall. Perhaps eventually....but I'll need to work on him for some time before he'll be open to this. I've spent months convincing him that Marius was harmless, but he still hides wolfsbane all over the house whenever Marius comes by.”

“That must be uncomfortable.” Enjolras muses, looking sympathetically at Marius.

“He's been hiding less of it lately. I just get a little dizzy now. He's changed all the handles back from silver to brass too.” Marius says.

“As long as nobody tells him, he can't possibly know what I am.” Grantaire protests.

“He'll know.” Cosette says. “He's – he has very strong intuitions.”

“He has some magic.” Enjolras concludes.

“Only a little.”

“You don't though.” Enjolras says curiously.

“He's not my biological father.” Cosette says, a sad smile appearing on her face.

Courfeyrac pointedly clears his throat and unsubtly hits Enjolras in the ribs with his elbow.

“Sorry.” Enjolras says belatedly.

“It's okay.” Cosette says. “But Grantaire really can't be there.”

“I don't have to meet him.” Grantaire exclaims. “I can just leave before he shows up.”

“If you're there he will want your statement. And you can't just disappear; he'll know we've planned this, so he will know that you're not just some random guy passing by.”

“Me, Enjolras and Jehan are the only ones we can be sure the mirror won't affect.” Grantaire grounds out. “And you don't want me to go?!”

“Grantaire, It's not about what I _want_ \- “ Cosette sighs. “Enjolras can still go. Father might be a little wary of vampires but he won't do anything unless he has proof you've done something wrong.”

“The fact that his mere survival hinges on drinking people's blood isn't enough?” Combeferre asks curiously.

“Doesn't have to be human blood.” Enjolras explains, a little distantly because he's – finally! - focusing on Grantaire.

“ _Enjolras_.” Grantaire pleads. He can't go without Grantaire. That isn't – that _shouldn't be an option_.

“If my father sees you he'll try to shoot Enjolras in the heart and cut off his head, and I can't promise that I'll be able to stop him before he gets the opportunity.” Cosette says, a little shakily but insistent nonetheless.

“Fuck this.” Grantaire hisses and just barely stops himself from kicking the coffee table in frustration. He's been keeping Enjolras alive for longer than this has been a proper country, so no, she does not get to lecture Grantaire on keeping Enjolras safe. He looks to her to tell her this, and she's stares back; apologetic and with sadness still lingering in the curve of her mouth, but completely firm and strong beneath that. 

“Fuck. I need a drink.” Grantaire mutters instead. He turns on his heel and hastily marches out of the room without looking at Enjolras. He knows it's childish but can't actually stop himself from slamming the front door behind him. 

Once in the hallway Grantaire loses all of his momentum. He leans against the wall for half a breath, trying to gather enough anger to propel himself out of the building, but ends up giving in and sliding to the floor instead. It's not as if he has his wallet on him anyway. It's in his coat, which he's probably left at Joly and Bossuet's place now that he thinks about it. No booze without any money.

Grantaire had only seen Cosette once, before, and that from a great distance. Madame la Baronne had been just as lovely as promised – is still as lovely as ever. She just stared down Enjolras for Grantaire's sake, to keep him safe, and it hadn't been necessary, she hadn't known them well enough to _know_ , but she had acted right by the information she did have and... and presumably she does know her father – the man she calls father, biological or not.

Grantaire bangs the back of his head into the wall once, and then the door opens again. Enjolras closes it behind himself much more softly than Grantaire had done.

“If you want to - .”

“Don't be stupid of course I'm not going.” Grantaire interrupts, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “I prefer your head attached to the rest of your body.”

“If you feel you need to go we can handle an overzealous police officer, Grantaire. It's not as if we haven't met some of those before.” Enjolras says, his voice firm. “It's up to you.”

“I really can't -” Grantaire begins, before interrupting himself with a sigh and banging his head against the wall again. “I'm not going. I need your head to stay where it is.” He takes his hand away from his forehead to look up at Enjolras. “Just.... Those bullets. According to Raoul I'm only 2% vampire, but when I got shot by that I definitely felt whatever they were supposed to do. With you I think one of those would be enough if they hit right.”

“I'm not going to get shot.” Enjolras says walking over and crouching in front of Grantaire. He says it with certainty, like it's a statement of fact.

“You know, just because you say something doesn't necessarily make it true.” Grantaire says, while Enjolras picks up both of his hands.

“I promised Jehan.” Enjolras says pressing their palms together.

“Well, if _you promised Jehan_....” Grantaire says sarcastically.

“And everybody else will be there.” Enjolras reminds him. “It's not just the two of us here. I'll be fine, we'll all be fine. We'll look after each other.”

_Yeah, because that went really well 182 years ago_. 

“Yeah” Grantaire simply breathes out instead. “That'll take some getting used to. All of them.” 

Enjolras hums in agreement, a soft smile spreading on his face at the idea. Then he reaches out and pushes Grantaire's shirt up. His smile is bright enough that it barely decreases in the face of Grantaire's gunshot. Enjolras lightly runs his fingers over the wound and Grantaire forces his eyes to the wall, trying to think of something beyond Enjolras' hand on his stomach.

“It doesn't hurt.” Grantaire volunteers as neutrally as he can manage.

“It's only superficial, what's left. It'll just be a scar by tomorrow.” Enjolras pronounces pleased and thankfully removes his hand. Then he deliberately tilts his head toward the stairs, a sign that somebody is coming. Grantaire focuses and nods when he hears them too. Half a minute later Bahorel, Bossuet and Joly emerges; Bahorel first, followed by Bossuet who is carrying Joly on his back for some reason.

“Hello.” Bahorel says cheerfully when he spots them. “Are we about ready to go?”

“Soon I think.” Grantaire answers. “But I'm not going.”

“Why not?” Bossuet asks.

“Apparently there might be beheadings involved if I go.” Grantaire says. “But you'll have to ask the lovely Madame Marie for all the sordid details.”

“I do like sordid details.” Bahorel says, going into the apartment. Bossuet and Joly lingers in the hallway.

“Is Enjolras going?” Joly asks, leaning his chin on top of Bossuet's smooth head.

“Yes.” Enjolras answers. He moves to sit next to Grantaire against the wall, their shoulders touching.

“You don't mind being separated for hours?” Joly asks.

“You do realize that I came to the city by myself?” Grantaire counters, while Enjolras tenses next to him.

“Yes, but then you got hurt.” Joly says, showing much insight into how they function. Grantaire wonders just what Joly and Enjolras had been talking about while Grantaire was asleep that first time.

“We mind.” Enjolras says simply. “We'll come in in a couple of minutes.” He adds, a clear dismissal. Bossuet briefly glances up at Joly before they follow the hint. Since Bossuets hands are occupied holding Joly up, Joly has to lean forward over his shoulder to turn the door handle and open the door for them both. They somehow manage going through the door without banging any limbs against the door frame.

“You have the knife?” Enjolras asks in a defeated tone of voice that means he's aware he's being irrational. Grantaire really can't throw stones here, since he himself just threw a small temper tantrum over Enjolras going without him - but still.

“Of course I have the knife.” Grantaire says “I promised you.” 

Promised never to leave the house without it, more specifically. It was prompted by Alicia the werewolf attempting to crack open his ribcage, four years ago. Suffice to say that Enjolras hadn't taken it well at the time. It's not that people hadn't tried to kill Grantaire before then, but usually that was because he was standing in the way of them getting to Enjolras, or because Enjolras was on one of his missions and Grantaire followed him into ground zero. It was expected risks then; actively going to the wrong place at the wrong time you might say. Alicia marked the first time anyone had realized that you could get to Enjolras by attacking Grantaire. Enjolras still haven't gotten over it. Thus, Grantaire now permanently have a silver knife hidden on his person. 

On one hand that story is proof that Grantaire can take care of himself, but it is also a prime example of horrible things occurring when Enjolras leaves Grantaire on his own, so right now Grantaire supposes it is better to change the topic. He doesn't exactly want to be left behind, but going would be worse so he might as well do his best to minimize Enjolras' worry.

“If you give me your phone I can call Raoul while you're gone.” Grantaire suggests lightly. “Get working on the mirror and strange silver stuff.”

“No.” Enjolras says, his posture straightening very abruptly.

“No?” Grantaire asks and looks at Enjolras in surprise.

“I don't think we should tell Raoul.” Enjolras says stiffly.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“You know the only reason he talks with us is because he's curious how I work.”

“In the beginning, yeah.” Grantaire says.”But by now I think it's about 5 % genuine affection, 15 % entertainment value and just 80 % scientific curiosity. That's a great improvement, considering his nature. Besides, you've never wanted to avoid him before.”

“I don't trust him.” Enjolras admits.

“Yes, but again, that's never stopped us before. What's different?”

“I don't trust him with _them_.” Enjolras clarifies.

“Oh.” Grantaire breathes out and can't help glancing at the closed door.

“It was fine before, because he's never had a reason to turn on us, and by now I think we know him well enough to recognize it if he ever gets one. But with them...” Enjolras pauses briefly, before continuing with something like fondness creeping into his tone. “Raoul underestimates you - everybody always does – but the others, they don't know enough yet. And there are too many of them now, we can't keep an eye on all of them.”

“He doesn't have any reason to though.” Grantaire points out. “Not right now. But if you want us to lie to him, that _will_ definitely give him one. He'll take it as an insult, especially since we have no good reason for it.”

“I'm not telling you to lie to him, I'm saying you shouldn't call him up and tell him.” Enjolras says.

“He already knows about the reincarnation though. I owe him a favor for that. Eventually he'll call me to hear what happened.” Grantaire says.

“You broke the phone, and he can't exactly call and ask me since you were hiding it from me the last he heard.” Enjolras points out, disapproval briefly flashing in his eyes. “And he was born in the seventeenth century, his sense of time passing is a little different from ours. There can go months before he feels you've taken too long calling back.”

“And then what? Hopefully the others will be better equipped to deal with vampires by then?” Grantaire asks, slightly exasperated.

“Yes.” Enjolras says simply. ”And if he gets hold of you before that you tell him the truth; that I don't want you to tell him about it yet.” 

Grantaire blinks at him, surprised that he is willing to use that excuse. Raoul would believe that. If Grantaire words it right he'll think it's an order. No deception then; Grantaire would tell him the barest of information and Raoul would brush it of as the result of one of Enjolras strange notions.

“He'll know something is up eventually, when we don't come back. It's been what? Five - six years since we last lived in Paris? That gives us two-three years before we start stretching your usual limit.” They'll need much more time here than that, decades really. No way they're leaving the others anytime soon now that they've found them.

“We'll have told him by then.” Enjolras sighs.”Just not now. We – I need time. I can't worry about him too now.”

“It has been a very eventful couple of days.” Grantaire offers, looking down as Enjolras takes his hand again. “You know the mirror and... _everything_ will be much harder to figure out when I can't ask him.”

“You'll think of something.” Enjolras says, no trace of doubt in his voice and squeezing Grantaire's hand reassuringly.

And here he goes again, expecting his own statements to come true just because he says so – except that this does somewhat work with Grantaire because yeah, if Enjolras has faith in him he guess he will have to think of something.

“As you command, chief.” Grantaire sighs quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I ran out of people for the chapter title (this is all Feuilly's fault. he was supposed to show up later but him and Jehan conspired against me), which means we're very near the end now. There's going to be a sequel (actually threequel by now?) after this though, so you're not getting rid of me just yet. As to the next chapter I can already predict that it will probably be _ages_ before that is done. It's summer break which makes my schedule rather unstructured and really cuts down on actual writing time. Hopefully it will be worth the wait, I guess?  
>  (this is my first multichapter guys, even if it sucks I'm proud - jesus, look at that word count)


	8. Chapter 8

At 03.07 AM Enjolras' phone rings, giving Grantaire – who'd been busy imagining all the ways his friends could die – a minor heart attack in surprise. A short struggle with the pile of blankets he's hiding in follows, but Grantaire still manages to grab the phone and answer before the second ring.

“What's happened?” Grantaire nearly yells into the phone.

“We didn't find him, but we found some tracks.” Enjolras answers promptly. “Near one of Feuilly's favorite bars. They're from earlier tonight, a few hours ago. We'll try laying the trap here tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you coming back now?” Grantaire asks, feeling dizzy with relief.

“Yes – Grantaire you're out of breath, is something wrong?” Enjolras asks.

“The couch attacked me when I tried to answer the phone. I'm on the floor.” Grantaire admits. He wiggles his feet which are still trapped in blankets to illustrate the point before remembering that Enjolras can't see that. “I'm not hurt.” Grantaire adds after a short pause. The way the last couple of days has been going it seems necessary to clarify that point.

“Ah.” Enjolras says, relief clear in the single syllable. “Are you drunk?” Enjolras asks, carefully neutral.

“You gave me one bottle of wine, Apollo, the last time that was enough to get me drunk was before I'd even met you.” Grantaire says. “No, what you're really asking is whether I left the apartment – which I didn't, I'm not an idiot – but you shouldn't try to hide your meaning, I much prefer you're honest about it when you accuse me of being undependable.”

Enjolras had pressed the bottle of wine into Grantaire hands right before they left with a “Here” - which wasn't so much a _here, I got you this_ as it was a _I got you alcohol, stay **here**_. At the time Grantaire had been incredibly grateful at the gesture, because even if it wasn't nearly enough to get Grantaire drunk it was still much more than Enjolras would have preferred giving – but right now it's a little hurtful that Enjolras thinks Grantaire would still have left the apartment.

“I don't think you're undependable.” Enjolras sighs. “And I wasn't trying to hide from you, I'm just - I'm trying to be less obsessively controlling when Jehan can hear me.” Enjolras says, a defeated tone slipping out through his attempt at lightening the mood. 

He's got weird vampire instincts, Grantaire reminds himself, it's not lack of trust that has him fretting the instant Grantaire is out of sight. And the last couple of days has been hard on those instincts.

“I think that's a losing battle dear Master.” Grantaire says. “You want me to stay put, and I have like a good boy. You should leave a t-shirt or something I can sniff next time, though, I hear it does wonders for anxious pets.” 

Enjolras exhales sharply. Grantare responds by chuckling obnoxiously and waits for Enjolras to get from shocked to angry.

His plan is somewhat ruined when Enjolras makes a surprised noise, followed by what sounds like a struggle. Whatever it is it stops quickly and the interlude is broken by Jehan's voice.

“Hi R”

“...Did you just wrestle Enjolras for the phone?”

“It's my phone and he has super strength, if he really didn't want me to get it he could have stopped me. Besides, he didn't look happy and I wanted to talk with you.” 

“Sure, that....seems fair.” Grantaire agrees haltingly.

“Did you do that on purpose, by the way?”

“What?”

“Make him – yep, it's angry now. Just a sec.” There's some rustling and muffled voices then, which Grantaire assumes means Jehan put his hand over the phone to say something to Enjolras. There's a pause and then a great deal more rustling and white noise, before Jehan returns.

“It was just a very quick mood change and you seem too good at Enjolras-wrangling to do that accidentally.” Jehan continues to the sound of car doors being slammed shut.

Grantaire listens to the car start while he considers his answer. “He worries too much.” Grantaire admits. “He stops if I annoy him enough.”

“I'm sure it doesn't work that way.”

“Years of experience here, Jehan – And Enjolras-wrangling? Really?”

“Yeah, he doesn't like that either judging by the look he's sending me.” Jehan says. He breathes out a laugh, but it's halfhearted at best and cuts off oddly.

“Jehan?” Grantaire questions

“I was worried too, you know. About you” Jehan says softly.

“I'm fine.” Grantaire promises. “I haven't even left your apartment. The worst thing that've happened is that your blankets wouldn't let me out of the couch.”

“I think it's a good thing you didn't come with us tonight.” Jehan admits quietly. “I couldn't handle it if you got shot again.”

“Nobody is getting shot, Jehan. Enjolras promised, didn't he?” Grantaire insist, worried now.

“I know, it's just the thought of it. To be honest Grantaire, I was completely useless that night – after you passed out. I couldn't handle it. It was too familiar. I... I don't really remember how we got to Joly's apartment. I know that Marius carried you by himself at some point, because my legs were shaking so much that Courfeyrac had to help me stay upright. Cosette tried to help, but it wasn't until Combeferre got there that I calmed down... “ Jehan's voice breaks of, interrupted by someone on his side – which makes sense, because even if nobody but Enjolras can understand their French, the way Jehan voice is shaken is worrying enough in it itself.

“Jehan - Jehan” Grantaire calls, repeating his name until he gets his attention again. “I'm fine. I'm so sorry you had to see that. But I'm good now. Enjolras fixed me. Enjolras always fixes me. - Do you want me to annoy you?” Grantaire offers. “I could talk about André Chéniers execution and how necessary it was for the Republic.”

“God, don't remind me.” Jehan says, some strength returning to his voice. Grantaire breathes out a short laugh in relief.

“Would it help to know that I'm pretty certain I can't die unless Enjolras gives me permission?”

There's a pause, where Grantaire assumes Enjolras makes a terrifying face.

“...Did Enjolras know about that?” Jehan asks

“I've mentioned it before, he just doesn't like it – Now, you're in a car right?”

“Yeah, Feuilly's. We're home soon.” 

“Where's Enjolras?”

“Shotgun, in front of me.” Jehan answers, slightly confused.

“Who's next to you?”

“Combeferre.”

“Excellent. Give me to him.”

There's some rustling and then a hesitant “Hello?” and right, English again.

“Raymond.” Grantaire says. “You need to hug Jehan, very thoroughly. You're good at that if I remember correctly.”

“...Okay.” Combeferre says after only a slight pause. Grantaire waits for the rustling – which hopefully signifies Jehan being enveloped – before hanging up.

Grantaire remembers Jehan saying he'd had ten years scared off his life. Grantaire should have asked then, should have made sure he was okay. Jehan has spent the last few days hugging everybody, and Grantaire had found that amusing and perhaps been a tad envious, but he really shouldn't have, he should have thought that through because Jehan remembers the barricade, he remembers all of them dying. 

Grantaire has barricade related nightmares sometimes, and in general they aren't that bad except occasionally when they really are. Once upon a time there was over a month or so where he barely got any sleep at all, and it – well, it certainly hadn't felt good, but it somehow must have looked even worse. Enjolras only ever uses his powers over Grantaire to keep him safe, but for a time Grantaire had apparently looked bad enough that stopping nightmares is now permanently categorized under that. Which is saying something considering how much Enjolras hates giving Grantaire orders.

_I think you scared ten years of my life last night. But I'm very happy that you're here,_ Jehan had said and Grantaire comforts himself with that last part as he untangles his legs from the blankets.

While scooping the blankets back onto the couch Grantaire feels the familiar tugging in the back of his mind heralding Enjolras' return. Grantaire manfully fights down the urge to go wait in front of the door like an excited puppy and settles for standing awkwardly at the end of the couch staring anxiously at the door instead. 

It's not locked he realizes, and wonders if that is something he should have done, but then there's steps in the hallway and Enjolras comes through the door and Grantaire has more important things to focus on.

Grantaire manages to stand his ground and let Enjolras cover the space between them, which he does very quickly. In a blink he's in Grantaire's space, looking him up and down for injuries and curling his hand tightly around Grantaire's wrist because he always wants touch after they've been apart any considerable amount of time.

“Everything okay?” Grantaire asks, flexing the hand trapped in Enjolras grip – not because he wants to be let go, but to feel the pressure more thoroughly.

“Bossuet picked up a dropped silver earring and got burned. It was very little, the mark will be gone by morning.” Enjolras sighs and takes a miniscule step out of Grantaire's space to glance back at Combeferre and Jehan coming through the door.

“Jehan?” Grantaire asks Enjolras quietly.

“We're both sleeping with him.” Enjolras says, proving that he must have been thinking about nightmares too.

“My bed is not that big.” Jehan protests halfheartedly, looking down at the floor with embarrassment. His hands are shaking slightly Grantaire notes in alarm. 

Enjolras must have noticed too, because he instantly lets go of Grantaire, which Grantaire takes as a blessing to go hug Jehan as tightly as he can without hurting him. Jehan makes a little surprised squeak, tenses for half a second, and then goes completely limb with a weak sigh.

“We'll just move the futon from my room.” Combeferre says gently and lightly pats Jehan's back, before going to do just that.

***

Grantaire may have thought he had a minor heart attack when the phone rang the first night, but it turns out to be nothing compared to how his chest feels the second night, because the second night they don't call at all. 

One minute he is thinking about what might happen if the timing of the trap is even a little bit off - imagining that special special noise when you stab someone in the chest – the next he feels the tugging of Enjolras' presence in the back of his mind and is shooting out of the couch – _because they haven't called_. What doses that mean? Why would they come back without calling first to let him know how it went?

He's out of the apartment and running down the stairs without having made that decision at all. And this may be a bad idea, if something has gone wrong a more stealthy approach wold be better, but he has spent the last few hours worrying all alone in the apartment. Nobody could be expected to behave _rationally_ right now. Not when you were certain you were going to get a phone call – a call with either good or bad news, but always a call, because something happening that would make Enjolras incapable of calling is never a possibility – but this tugging without even -

And then Grantaire very nearly runs into Enjolras on the stairs, but manages to break his forward momentum with a tight grip on the handrail at the last moment and freezes balanced on one leg, a single step left between them.

“It worked.” Enjolras says - unnecessarily because Grantaire can tell just by looking at him. There's a gleam in his eyes and he's grinning the way he only does when some plan worked out without any casualties. Grantaire can hear the others – or; one, two – four of the others on the stairs following in Enjolras' wake.

“Jesus Christ.” Grantaire gasps as Enjolras tugs him down to his level “You couldn't have called?”

“We were a little distracted.” Enjolras says lightly – happily – wrapping a hand around Grantaire's upper arm.

“Jesus – Fuck.” Grantaire says, out of breath.

Enjolras face drops, either having read Grantaire's expression or felt the way his heartbeat is attempting to play some dubstep version of _Ride of the Valkyries_. “Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I wasn't thinking.” He says, voice serious now, meaning it, and Grantaire instantly feels bad because Enjolras' grin has disappeared. That was a horrible experience that could have been avoided if Enjolras had just called, but that doesn't mean Grantaire wants Enjolras to be any less happy because of him.

“It's fine, I'll survive.” Grantaire says “How did it go? Any problems?”

“No, it was perfect. They were perfect.” Enjolras says, his grin returning. Behind him Bossuet appears turning the corner, quickly followed by Joly.

“Ah, I see. This is where you went.” Bossuet says as he comes to halt one step below Enjolras and Grantaire. “Hi Grantaire. How's your night been?”

“Long and horrible.” Grantaire says, and wriggles himself out of Enjolras' grip

“I'm sorry.” Enjolras repeats.

“It's fine.”

“I do think it was best you didn't come. Cosette's father is terrifying. We left the police station early because he kept giving Patrick and Enjolras these hostile looks.” Joly says and pats Bossuet's shoulder.

“He _was_ easier on Marius, though, so he clearly can be won over with repeated exposure.” Bossuet says.

“Yeah, but you apparently have to weather wolfsbane and silver before you get that far. Are you sure it's worth the effort?” Grantaire points out.

“For Cosette and Marius' sake.” Enjolras says

“And he makes his own silver bullets.” Bossuet adds. Grantaire has to turn that over in his mind an extra time before realizing that Bossuet means that as a pro and not a con.

“...Are you sure that's a good thing?” Grantaire asks.

“It makes it preferable to have him on our side.” Combeferre says, turning the corner with Jehan. They have apparently stopped to empty their mailbox on the way, judging by the letters Combeferre has stuffed somewhat hazardously in the pocket of his jeans.

“Grantaire!” Jehan exclaims upon seeing him, and hurries up the few steps between them, actually pushing Joly and Bossuet out of his way. Joly jumps down to the relative safety by Combeferre's side, while Bossuet pretends to hit the wall with a dramatic wailing sound.

“We got you something.” Jehan says, looking immensely pleased with himself and holds up a bundled up scarf.

Grantaire is about to ask when he senses the magic, which seems to be broadcasting a vaguely familiar vibe, and then he makes out the shape of the object hidden beneath the scarf.

“You got me the mirror?” Grantaire says while taking it from Jehan. He has to tamp down his urge to make sure by looking and settles for simply feeling the shape of the mirror through the fabric. It's heavier than you would expect from it's size. “Isn't this evidence?”

“We said it broke and gave them the broken piece you'd kept of the other mirror. It was Joly's idea.” Combeferre says and starts pushing gently at Jehan and Bossuet. They all take the hint to move up the steps back toward the apartment.

“Did you get that idea by going through my pockets?” Grantaire asks, twisting around to look expectantly at Joly and then Bossuet, because he distinctly remembers putting that piece of mirror into his coat pocket.

“Yes. You've left your coat at our place.” Joly says without a hint of remorse.

“So you went through my pockets?” Grantaire repeats, more amused than anything else.

“Yes. Your driver's license says you're 25.” Bossuet answers this time.

“What, did you expect it to tell the truth? It's blatant lies, but at least it's more convincing than Enjolras'; his says he's 22 when he clearly doesn't look a day over 17.”

“How do you get your IDs? And would you be willing to get us some?” Bossuet asks.

“Why do you want a fake ID?” Jehan asks

“I'm an old boy scout, we like to be prepared. And they could come in handy if we ever need to flee from the authorities. Case in point; we just lied to the police and stole evidence from an ongoing investigation.” Bossuet says as they make their way into the apartment

“And it would be cool.” Combeferre adds, closing the door behind them.

“It would be _so_ cool.” Joly agrees with enthusiasm.

“We can get you fake IDs if you want.” Enjolras says indulgently. 

Grantaire looks at him in surprise, having expected it to take more convincing than that – it would be yes, of course, if they actually _needed_ them, but they don't and a fake ID isn't exactly cheap - but then all of four of them gives various signs of delight – from Combeferre's surprised smile to Bossuet and Joly high-fiving - and Enjolras just lights up in return. 

Wow. Okay. Enjolras is going to be spoiling them all rotten if he gets the opportunity.

“We're a terrible influence.” Grantaire tells Enjolras.

“I know.” Enjolras agrees.

“Case in point; the mirror we stole you.” Combeferre reminds them.

“Right.” Grantaire says, lifting up the bundled up scarf and mirror. “Anybody looked into it?”

“Feuilly. He was bait.” Enjolras says, suddenly sober. “He froze for a couple of minutes before snapping out of it. He said.... he said he saw himself at the barricade. He was drinking with Combeferre.”

“He...” Grantaire stutters tightening his grip on the mirror. He's surprised. He doesn't know what he had expected the mirror to do, but it's a surprise nonetheless. ”Just that? He only – that one?”

“He thinks he saw more, but that's the only thing he remembers of it.” Enjolras says.

“He saw – Did he just _see_ it? Was it a memory or did he see it? Third person point of view?”

“I didn't ask.” Enjolras says, voice shaky now and looking to the others questioningly.

“He didn't say.” Combeferre says. “But you can let us try.”

“You – what?” Grantaire says.

“We're here to be test subjects. For science and all that.” Joly says. “We figure it's pretty safe. Feuilly snapped out of it on his own and he seemed fine after.”

“For science and curiosity.” Bossuet says. “I wanna know if I was devastatingly handsome back then too.”

“You were just as bald.” Jehan says.

“That's a yes then?”

“Grantaire has pictures of you – drawings.” Enjolras says. “You don't have to... If you wanna know anything you can just ask us. The mirror might not be safe. We don't know what it does.”

“And we won't find out until we test it.” Combeferre says catching Enjolras eyes. “We want to Enjolras. I promise you we really, really want to.” He reaches out and touches his shoulder. Enjolras relaxes noticeably under the attention.

“I call first attempt!” Bossuet interrupts, stretching his hand into the air.

“Second.” Combeferre says.

“I – damn.” Joly sighs.

Grantaire blinks, looking between them, startled by their enthusiasm, before catching himself and starting to unwrap the mirror. He lets the scarf fall to the floor and pauses with the surface of the mirror carefully hidden against the palm of his hand and pointed towards the floor.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, checking.

“The rest have to look the other way” Enjolras says.

Right, logistics.

Bossuet gets placed in front of Grantaire while everybody else stays a few feet behind him, safely out of view of the mirror. Once everyone is in place, Grantaire can't help hesitating. Bossuet grins at him reassuringly.

“Okay?” Grantaire asks.

“Yeah, go for it.”

He lifts up the mirror and feels something like a throb from it when Bossuet looks at it. It's disturbing the way Bossuet's instantly freezes up, his face going completely blank, and Grantaire drops his arm down as if burned. He hurriedly picks up the scarf from the floor and covers the surface again. When he looks up Bossuet is still frozen.

“Feuilly was the same.” Jehan says, coming up behind him and leaning his weight into Grantaire's side.

“So were you, I think. Until you suddenly dropped to the ground.”

“Feuilly didn't drop.” Combeferre says from behind them. Good thing, Grantaire thinks, otherwise they should have made somebody ready to catch Bossuet.

Grantaire is about to ask how long it took with Feuilly when Bossuet sort of – slumps. He goes boneless, his upper body dropping, but catches himself before falling down and straightens up again. He blinks at them a couple of times, life returning to his face, and then he starts laughing.

“I stole an omnibus.” He says

“You did?” Grantaire says, because he doesn't remember that.

“He did.” Enjolras says, catching Bossuet's attention.

“You were there.” Bossuet says, stumbling over to Enjolras and wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a grip that would likely have crushed a regular mortal. “ And you were _so pleased_ with me.”

Enjolras answers something in Latin that Grantaire doesn't catch, but which has Bossuet laughing again.

“Well, that seems perfectly safe. Is it my turn then?” Combeferre asks.

“I'm not done yet.” Bossuet says, letting go of Enjolras. “Grantaire, it was a memory, my point of view, and there was only the one of them. There, now you may Raymond.”

They use the same procedure as before; same positions, same amount of time with the mirror, but what Combeferre gets is far from as pleasant as Bossuet's memory.

It's clear as soon as he unfreezes. He's shaky, covers his face with both of his hands and takes several heavy breaths before looking up at them.

“I died.” He says hoarsely.

Jehan makes a strangled noise and hurries over to him, gripping his forearm and squeezing. 

“Ray.” Jehan says, and Combeferre puts his hand on top Jehan's, but his eyes are elsewhere - busy scanning over the rest of them until they find and settle on Enjolras.

“You were there.” He says, a darker, pained repeat of Bossuet's words. “And Julien and Courf – Corwin. But you were there, right there.” He says and points to his left. “And then we...”

Enjolras makes a sound that isn't human, and Grantaie nearly drops the mirror in his rush to get to him. Grantaire barrels into his side and grabs his hand desperately. Enjolras squeezes back with enough force that Grantaire can feel the bones of his hand grind painfully against each other, but he doesn't look away from Combeferre for an instant, and neither does his face shift away from the pained expression it has settled into.

“I'm sorry.” Enjolras says

There had been bodies strewn all over the floor, Grantaire remembers. He hadn't looked at them, didn't see how many of them were friends because more important was that Enjolras had been there. Enjolras had still been standing, bathed in golden sunlight, waiting for... 

\- All that had mattered had been getting to him before – getting to Apollo, Enjolras, Enjolras....

“Enjolras.” Grantaire says, and Enjolras' eyes turns back on him then. Sees him. Curls his free hand around the back of Grantaire's neck, thumb left resting against his pulse. He exhales shakily.

“Maybe.” Grantaire begins haltingly. ”Maybe you and Combeferre should take a break. You should go somewhere and talk, yeah? Whoever wants to go, and the rest of us can stay here and play with the mirror. Okay?”

“Okay.” Combeferre says softly. Enjolras nods too.

“Jehan?” Grantaire asks.

“I'll go too. We can use Raymond's room.” Jehan says, and Grantaire nods in gratitude.

“Julien?” Jehan questions, looking to him.

“I'll stay. It's my turn next.” Joly says. “Unless you want me to come. Do you want me there Ray?”

Combeferre studies him for a few seconds before shaking his head lightly “It's fine.”

“Enjolras?” Joly asks.

Enjolras blinks, looking surprised to be asked. “You can stay.” He says eventually, before focusing back on Grantaire, briefly tightening the already painful grip on his hand and then letting go. 

“Go play with the mirror.” He says a little shakily while stepping back.

“It's okay.” Grantaire says reassuringly. “I've got it. I'll figure it out.”

***

Grantaire hasn't got it.

He doesn't know what the mirror is, what it's made of, what its purpose is, whether it has function of its own or if it has specifically been created to work with the knife. He doesn't even know what the function is _with_ the knife. Presumably it has something to do with the silver stuff in the bottles, but they don't know what that is either.

The only thing he knows is what the mirror does, which is show people a memory from their past life. It's always just one, no matter how long Grantaire lets them look into the mirror, although it is a different memory each time. There seems to be a time constraint to it; Joly and Bossuet's memories circles the barricade, the furthest away they manage is one of Bossuet's which Grantaire can tentatively place a few weeks before Lamarque's death. 

They run out of things to test pretty quickly. Joly and Bossuet do two turns each before they think of testing whether the mirror can do two people at once, and once that is proved they really are just playing with the mirror. Joly and Bossuet are eager to continue trying, and just like Enjolras Grantaire is disinclined to deny them anything they want, especially after the first time Joly gets a memory of Grantaire and looks at him with recognition. 

“Marius was talking about a girl.” Joly says, smiling.“Grantaire.” Je adds, almost thoughtfully, the name rolling of his tongue in a way it hadn't done before. It's not the same as when Jehan woke up, familiar affection in his eyes, but it feels very very close and Grantaire needs to take a moment to gather himself again.

It's like a homing beam has been activated then, because after that nearly all of the memories contain Grantaire. He wonders if this means that either he or the other two are somehow affecting what memories get picked, or whether it is within the bounds of normal probability giving the time constraint. He was never good at math.

Eventually Joly gets a memory of the barricade falling, of bodies and hammering on doors that wouldn't open. They have to stop after that, it's much too close to Combeferre's memory for comfort. Grantaire figures that they have been lucky to go this long before getting something painful. The timing of it is excellent actually, because Combeferre and Enjolras seems to have settled down completely.

“Are Combeferre joining us tonight?” Grantaire asks Enjolras after Joly and Bossuet has said their goodbyes.

“Jehan offered, but he said he would be fine on his own.” Enjolras says from the floor of Jehan's room, already having curled up on the futon. Grantaire suspects it is a meant as a hint to all of them that they should be getting some sleep – which is ridiculous coming from Enjolras, who tends to forget that he needs sleep when Grantaire isn't around to remind him.

“I'll keep an eye on him.” Enjolras says.

“An ear you mean.” Grantaire corrects him, before letting himself fall into Jehan's bed.

Combeferre does appear to do alright by himself, sleeping through the night without Enjolras catching any noises of distress. Jehan, on the other hand, doesn't get so lucky. Enjolras has to wake him from a nightmare close to six in the morning, after which Jehan doesn't want to go back to sleep.

After some negotiations Enjolras, Grantaire and Jehan all relocate to the living room, Jehan on the couch with his head in Enjolras lap – an unsubtle attempt from Enjolras side to make him fall asleep again – and Grantaire sitting on the floor with Jehan's laptop, to make sure he _doesn't_ fall asleep.

“You didn't have to wake Grantaire.” Jehan tells Enjolras, very quietly so as not to disturb Combeferre's sleep in the next room.

“I'd be angry if he hadn't.” Grantaire says. Not mentioning that he meant angry at himself. He feels terrible for somehow sleeping through Jehan's distress, despite lying right next to him. “It's all for one and one for all here, Jehan.”

“But you look really tired.”

“It's fine, it only adds to my natural roguish charm.” Grantaire says. “And I can use the time to do some research.”

“You're on Facebook, Grantaire.” Enjolras points out, and honestly, he's supposed to be on Grantaire's side here.

“I'm taking a break, since googling various combinations of “mirror”, “knife” and “reincarnation” didn't get me anything.”

“You're googling? I thought you said you knew someone you could ask about it.” Jehan asks, twisting his head around to look at Grantaire.

“Raoul. But giving the . . . delicacy of the situation we've decided he's untrustworthy.” Grantaire says and opens Jehan's friends list with a little more force than necessary. “And all the good sources I know I know through him, so if I asked they would likely tell him. Which leaves me with google until I think of something better. Maybe Cosette can find us something, but given that she didn't know there were merchants I think we're pretty screwed – You think we could somehow ask her father without revealing that you nicked the mirror yesterday?”

“I doubt it – and it's probably better for us if we keep him away from the mirror altogether.” Jehan says, grimacing.

“Was he really that bad? I mean, If he's raised someone like Cosette he can't be completely unreasonable, can he?” Grantaire says.

“Wa...We didn't tell you?” Jehan asks and looks to Enjolras with surprise.

“We should have.” Enjolras says apologetically. “You remember the spy, Javert?”

“Eh... ” Grantaire says, frowning as he digs through his memory. If Jehan remembers him too that limits the possibilities. At the barricade? - Oh. There it is. “Did you hit him with a table leg?” Grantaire asks.

“That's him.” Enjolras says.

“He's – wait. You're saying that's Cosette's father?” Grantaire says.

“Yes.” Jehan says. “Which is why we shouldn't let him near the mirror. Imagine if he looks into it.”

Grantaire winces. His memory is a little spotty on the details, but he's pretty sure Enjolras gave someone permission to drag Javert off and shoot him.

“Yeah, asking him is definitely not an option.” Grantaire says, while Enjolras makes a noise of agreement. They spend several minutes quietly contemplating just how well Javert would respond if he got those particular memories back, before Enjolras gently pokes Grantaire with his foot and breaks the silence.

“You could ask Siobhan.” Enjolras suggest.

Grantaire turns away from the computer to look up at Enjolras with surprise. “She only started practicing less than two years ago, this is a little above her pay grade.”

“It's better than google and it's about time you called her anyway. When was the last time she heard from you?”

“A while ago.” Grantaire admits, turning back to the computer,

“Who is she?” Jehan asks.

“A witch. Grantaire took Krav Maga with her. She specializes in blood magic.”

“Don't tell him about that.” Grantaire says. “We don't want him looking into that.”

“Blood magic?” Jehan asks.

“No.” Grantaire says firmly and clicks resolutely without really looking at the screen. Then he does look at the screen and has to reread a couple of times and refresh the page before accepting the name that's attached to the pictures. This morning is just full of surprises.

Behind him Enjolras and Jehan are talking quietly – hopefully not about blood magic – but Grantaire interrupts them without really thinking, still somewhat in disbelief.

“Bahorel's full name is Martin Pascal?” Grantaire asks. With a few more clicks he finds the family list, and yes, that's familiar.

“Yes?” Jehan says, and then hurriedly has to sit upright because Enjolras moves to lean over Grantaire's shoulder.

“Pascal.” Enjolras says, in wonder. “Bahorel will love this.”

“Marius will kill us.” Grantaire says, realization dawning, remembering. “He'll kill us, both of us, but mostly you. Do you realize? He'll be so angry. I don't think I've ever seen Marius really angry.”

“Yes you have.” Enjolras says, sounding annoyingly calm about it all.

“Enjolras, this is... We have to tell him, and if he hits you you'll deserve it.” Grantaire says. “And he's a werewolf now, imagine how hard he can hit.”

“Of course we''ll tell him.” Enjolras says, ignoring the last bit. “We'll tell him when he remembers. It won't mean anything to him now.”

“What is it?” Jehan asks. “What did you do?”

Grantaire and Enjolras look at each other, hesitating, before Enjolras answers.

“We can't tell you before we've told them.”

Jehan narrows his eyes, inspecting both of them.

“What if I guess it?” Jehan asks.

“No, Jehan.” Enjolras says. “And I'd be grateful if you didn't mention it to anybody. Not until we've dealt with it.”

Jehan nods, albeit a little reluctantly, before glancing at Grantaire with consideration.

“I'm not telling either. The man said no.” Grantaire says. He closes down the computer and gets up from the floor. “Give me your phone. I'll go call Siobhan.” 

“Say hi from me.” Enjolras says and throws Grantaire the phone. As Grantaire leaves, Enjolras turns to Jehan, looking at him like he's considering a lecture on the importance of privacy, or maybe about why going to Grantaire is a terrible way of going behind his back. Grantaire closes the door to Jehan's room before seeing what Enjolras picks.

The phone already has Siobhan's number on the contact list, which Grantaire a little guiltily remembers adding himself the last time he called her over a month ago. Grantaire honestly hadn't meant to take this long, but he just isn't used to keeping in touch with people after he and Enjolras have moved on. Usually it's necessary to drop contact so people doesn't notice their lack of aging. Even though Siobhan already knows they aren't human it is apparently a hard habit to shake.

“What?” Siobhan answers, picking up on the third ring and sounding genuinely confused.

“Hi, it's Grantaire.” Grantaire says hesitantly, a little thrown by that greeting. Siobhan usually has impeccable manners, even over the phone. She used to sign every single text message with her name.

“Hi.” Siobhan sighs, followed by some rustling and a weak groan.

“Did I wake you?” Grantaire guesses.

“No. Or – mmhhh, yes. But it's fine, I was supposed to get up an hour ago actually.” She yawns, before continuing. “Sorry. Okay. I'm awake now – Hello.”

“Hello.” Grantaire says. “Enjolras says hi as well.”

“Well, say hi back. Are you still across the pond?”

“Yeah. I still haven't managed to find any properly old churches here.”

“Well, I told you that would be a challenge. But isn't it really early over there?”

“I'd forgotten.” Grantaire says, glancing around and only spotting a broken clock that's been taken apart. It seems some of the parts have been used to decorate a lampshade. “It's six something. What time is it at you?”

“11 something. 11.42.” She says. “So, Grantaire. What can I do for you at six something in the morning? Do you need someone cursed urgently?”

“No, no cursing. We...we found something odd, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Maybe you've heard about it before.”

“Sure, hit me.”

Grantaire tells her about the knife, the mirror and the strange silver substance. He tells her what the mirror does, memories and reincarnation included, only avoiding names and personal details. Siobhan doesn't pry, she's good like that. It's probably one of the reasons Enjolras suggested asking her; she'll help if she can, and if she does glean something more personal from what Grantaire tells her, she'll politely ignore it until they bring it up themselves.

“I have never heard about anything like that.” She says when Grantaire is done. “But I do have an idea, about the silver stuff in the bottles. I'm a little surprised you haven't thought of it yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“It's kinda awful.” Siobhan begins. “So you have these reincarnated people, and you have a guy killing these people to get something. You were talking about memories, but I don't think that is it, because as you said yourself; you wouldn't need to kill for that. Now, with reincarnation you have the same person being born twice, and what _makes_ them the same person isn't their memories, is it? No, because usually they don't remember anything from their past life. When people are reincarnated, what is it exactly that gets reborn? What leaves the body when you die?”

“...Your soul.” Grantaire says hoarsely.

“Yeah.” Siobhan says. “Perhaps they're easier to extract if you're reincarnated. Not as tightly attached, you know? Or maybe it's more powerful with a soul that's been born twice. It's - If that's what is in the bottles I don't think it's all of it. I like to think that a soul would be too big to fit in a glass bottle, so maybe it's just a piece of it? But even just a piece...Blood is very very powerful because it's the source of life and all that, but a piece of a soul – I imagine that's more juice than I would ever be comfortable dealing with. But you have some merchants there. I'm sure they know how to reach the people out there crazy enough to play with that kind of power, and I bet those people are willing to pay an outrageous amount of money for it.”

Grantaire feels nauseous. He notices a strange ringing at his ears when he pushes open the door to the living room. Enjolras looks up at him with concern – he can't have been listening, not to Siobhan's part of the conversation at least or he would look more than just _concerned_.

“...ntaire? R?” Siobhan's voice drift through the phone Grantaire is still holding up to his ear. “What are you going to do?”

“We're going to go break the bottles.” Grantaire says to both Enjolras and her.


	9. Chapter 9

Bahorel is invaluable. 

At first he tells them that he can't possibly trade for another shift so soon after last time, but when he hears why they need to get back into the storage unit, he immediately offers to sneak them in after dark.

“My keys will work whether I have a shift or not.” He says, and then refuses to simply give them the keys so he can pretend to have lost them. “I'm coming. The security cameras are shitty anyway, and I know where they are. You didn't think I got you in the first time without making sure I could hide it? I know how to erase the taped as well.”

“Of course.” Enjolras sighs, giving in. “We'll be happy to have you.”

Jehan wants to come - well, everybody wants to come once they hear about – but Jehan is the first. Enjolras says no, they're are not searching the place like last time, this is just a quick in and out, the fewer people the better. Jehan grudgingly accepts this – and so does everybody else. 

So it's just the three of them, sneaking through the hallways this time. It goes must faster than the last time, mostly because Bahorel doesn't check behind every single corner before letting them pass. Whether this is because he has realized that Enjolras can hear anybody nearby or because he's simply forgotten about it Grantaire can't tell, he doesn't dare ask in case it's the latter.

“Can I ask you something?” Bahorel says when they turn the last corner, apparently having dropped or forgotten the no-speaking rule as well.

“Anything.” Enjolras says.

“This reincarnation thing. I gathered that we don't look the same? How did you recognize us?”

“We don't really know.” Grantaire admits. “It's just...obvious, somehow.”

Bahorel stops in front of the door knob and inserts the key, before stepping back, his hands pointedly held up in the air, far away from the door.

“I suppose it's because we are the same people, no matter appearances.” Bahorel says, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“You are.” Enjolras confirms. “You don't think Jehan has been any different since he got his memories back, do you?”

“No.” Bahorel agrees with a smile, before nodding at the door. “Grantaire again?”

“That's probably best. Don't touch the middle.” Enjolras says.

“Yes, my lord.” Grantaire says dryly, sending Enjolras an exasperated look. It's not as if he has forgotten last time. He remembers the experience rather vividly, actually.

Like last time, the little needle shoots out and disappears again fast enough to be a blur, but with his hand out of the way this time, Grantaire only pauses for a second before turning the knob the rest of the way. From the doorway the storage unit looks exactly as they left it. Grantaire quickly takes the step over the threshold, before he or Enjolras can start over thinking it. Grantaire can't help tensing up on the other side, but after a couple of seconds it's apparent that nothing is happening.

“All clear?” Bahorel asks.

Grantaire nods and somehow ends up doing jazz hands to prove his continued autonomy. Apparently accepting that as a valid proof, Enjolras and Bahorel follows him over the threshold, albeit both of them are walking with a bit more care than usual.

“Okay. Quickly in and out was it? What about we just grab the chest and deal with them somewhere else?” Bahorel says

Enjolras nods, and moves to get the chest. Grantaire follows right behind, hoping to see if he can steal some books now they are here anyway. If they're lucky one of them will mention _something_ about the mirror once he gets it translated.

“The others could be there too – we could make a ceremony out of it.” Bahorel continues “Jehan could recite some poetry, I'm sure he already has something lying around that would be appropriate for the occasion. Feuilly could -”

They never hear what Feuilly could do. 

Enjolras passes the shelves placed in the middle of the room, which hides the nook with the little table and chair, Grantaire who is right behind him, sees the man and the gun half a second after Enjolras.

What follows happens very quickly. Enjolras freezes. Grantaire continues forward and manages to push Enjolras slightly sideways before Enjolras catches on and starts pushing back – but then it's too late and the shot goes off. A sudden burst of pain in Grantaire's shin. 

Warning shot, not going for the kill, Grantaire thinks. He wants something. 

Grantaire makes his face go blank and lets his leg collapse under him, making sure to land awkwardly on the right one, his hand nearly trapped beneath it. It's a few seconds too late, but hopefully the man will take the delayed reaction as a sign of slow brain activity. Enjolras' hand twitches toward Grantaire before he catches on and quickly drops his hand away again, letting Grantaire fall.

“Hello.” The man says and smiles politely at Enjolras while keeping the gun pointed at him. “So you're the vampire who's been making trouble. We need to talk, you and I.”

“I didn't hear you.” Enjolras says, his voice betraying nothing but a vague curiosity.

“No, you certainly didn't. I have a nifty gadget for that,” The man says and pats at what must be an inner pocket of his sports jacket with his free hand, before picking up a second gun that had been lying on the table. Grantaire notes that the chest containing what is very likely to be bottled souls is sitting open on the table. 

“You and I will have to move a little so I can see your human friend as well.” the mans tells Enjolras, nodding in Bahorel's direction.

“Okay.” Enjolras says, before poking Grantaire unkindly with his shoe. It's more of a kick than a poke really, and Grantaire is deeply gratified. Enjolras is usually very reluctant to play along, but there's Bahorel's safety to worry about this time, which is apparently enough to make Enjolras bend his principles for the sake of an advantage.

“ **Up**.” Enjolras says.

Grantaire gets up instantly. Despite burning with pain, his leg doesn't shake any under his weight – having been ordered up, Grantaire can be sure it won't give out on him anytime soon.

There's a click as the man turns off the safety on the second gun.

“I think it'll be better if the thrall stays there. Can't have him jumping in front of more bullets, can we? It's a standing order, I assume. And a very well done one. It didn't even hesitate, it just went. Clever.”

Enjolras doesn't comment and Grantaire keeps his face blank as the man glances over him, before looking back at Enjolras.

“I'll move forward and you'll back up, one step at a time. If you move any faster than I'm comfortable with I'll shoot, and I promise you won't like these bullets” the man says, grinning a little on the last part. 

Enjolras inclines his head in agreement and they start moving, achingly slowly, until Enjolras is right next to Bahorel, and Grantaire is within reach of the man. He studies all of them for a moment, considering, before pushing Grantaire back, flat against the shelves and takes a little step to the side himself, so Grantaire can't possibly move fast enough to get in between if he shoots.

They should have done something before this, Enjolras should have moved on the man right after the first shot. Sure, Grantaire is much closer to him now and has clearly been labelled as incapable of independent thought, but in exchange they've put Bahorel at the end of a gun, which means Grantaire can't use his advantage anyway. He's fast enough to get one gun perhaps, but certainly not both of them, and neither Bahorel or Enjolras can be allowed to be hit. Bahorel is distressingly human and breakable, and Enjolras... Grantaire has trained himself to let Enjolras be shot if necessary – but that's with regular ammunition, regular bullets whose damage Enjolras can shake off in mere hours if properly tended to. It's never been bullets made specifically for vampires, intended to hurt and combat Enjolras' accelerated healing.

Grantaire is locked in place. Enjolras is trapped similarly, unable to move for fear of Bahorel being caught in the fire, and with the added obstacle of being watched closely by the man. It leaves them only able to bide their time and hope he makes a mistake eventually.

“Now, tell me where the mirror is.” The man says.

“What mirror?” Bahorel asks wearing an extremely convincing confused expression.

“The one Tommy had with him last night when he got arrested, but which the police doesn't have in evidence.” The man says.

“We dropped the mirror. It broke.” Enjolras says.

“Well, that hopefully isn't true because then I won't have any reason not to shoot you.” The man says.

“If I tell you, you won't have any reason not to shoot me.” Enjolras counters.

“True.” The man agreed.”You'll have to take my word on that.”

“What about we trade?” Enjolras suggests. “Tell me what you're doing with the souls and I'll tell you where the mirror is.”

The man looks surprised for a moment, before he suddenly laughs.

“Oh, I see.” he says. “Old friends, is it? From before you were changed? That's why you care. Well, here's something; tell me where the mirror is or I'll shoot your old friend.” He continues and wriggles the gun that's pointed at Bahorel a little. Grantaire has to tamp down the rush of fear and urge to grab the gun out of his hand.

“But won't you just do that anyway? You haven't even bothered trying to hide your face.” Bahorel says, completely calm.

“True. You can't be sure I won't shoot you after, you only have my word for it.” The man agrees and continues, with some frustration seeping into his voice. “But you can be sure that I _will shoot you_ if you _don't_ tell me.”

“And then we'll be dead and you still won't know where the mirror is.” Enjolras says.

“But at least you'll be dead, and I'm really starting to like that idea.” The man says definitely frustrated now. “You'd rather have certain death to keep me from the mirror, than giving it to me and taking your chances?”

“I don't like you.” Enjolras answers simply. Grantaire swears that Bahorel almost laughs out loud, just barely managing to hold it back and keep a serious expression.

The man opens his mouth, looking close to yelling now, but closes it again without making a sound. A thoughtful expression crosses his face and then he looks calm again.

“Just had a thought.” The man says, and steps close to grab hold of Grantaire's t-shirt and pulls him closer – still holding the gun in his hand. 

_Now, now, now!_ Grantaire thinks. The gun is off Bahorel. Enjolras twitches but still doesn't move - because Grantaire will be screwed if it fires against his chest like this. Grantaire has to struggle not to glare at him.

“If I kill you there's nothing stopping the thrall from telling me.” The man says, apparently unaware of the opening he's provided.

Enjolras hesitates, visibly struggling with himself before replying – or visibly to Grantaire. He doubts the man is able to recognize it.

“If he's aware enough to know. If he survives it.” Enjolras says, keeping his voice neutral. “If they're completely gone they die when the connection is cut. Have you ever seen that? A perfectly healthy body just shutting down because there's nobody home?”

The man makes a disgusted noise and pushes Grantaire away.

“Perhaps I should take my chances.” The man begins - 

\- but doesn't finish, because he didn't push Grantaire very far at all, and while he's still in the process of the moving the gun back to Bahorel, Grantaire takes the small step back and pushes his little silver knife through the man's back.

It's a small knife, but Grantaire is very good at hitting the heart on the first try. He has to be, since Enjolras has a habit of pissing of vampires. This is just a human though, and he's barely moving, which makes it nearly distressingly easy. The last time Grantaire had done this had been Alicia, who'd just thrown him to the ground and was trying to claw his chest open when he'd gotten her with an equally small blade. In comparison this is nothing. 

The knife slides in like through butter and there's a choked gasp. One gun goes off, but Enjolras is already gone, is moving Bahorel as well. Then guns clatter to the floor and Grantaire twists the knife around once before pulling it out, letting the man collapse.

Vampires' bodies wither when they die, crumbling up more the older they are. With Alicia he'd left the knife in, so the silver could continue affecting her. Pulling it out is better with humans though, means more blood can run out - which is exactly why Grantaire has done it this time – but somehow he's still surprised at the pool of blood that's forming around the body. It's a startling visual – especially if you're still clutching the knife that caused it, warm and slippery with blood.

“R.” Enjolras says “You okay?”

It didn't have to be in the heart, Grantaire thinks. But he had to be sure the man couldn't aim the gun. And he had to die anyway, didn't he? He would have killed Enjolras and Bahorel and anyone who got in his way. He knew about the souls and probably knew about killing people to get the souls - He was a very bad man and Grantaire doesn't feel bad about this.

“Yeah.” Grantaire says simply, tearing his eyes away from the blood to look at Enjolras.

“Good.” Enjolras says, stepping over and around the body “Give me the knife.” 

“You'll get blood on you.” He's entirely clean now, having even avoided stepping on any of it, which seems like something of a feat with how big the pool is beginning to get. Grantaire's front is covered, which means he's pretty definitely ruined Bossuet's shirt.

“I don't like you holding knifes in here. Even your own.” Enjolras says.

It takes Grantaire a moment to remember what he means by that. “Oh.” he breathes and hands it over, first the knife and then bending down and unstrapping the sheath as well.

“Thank you.” Enjolras says, and unconcernedly wipes the knife off on his jeans before putting it in the sheath. “Come here.”

He was a bad man who had to die, Grantaire thinks, and if I'd let you have the opportunity you would insist on doing it yourself.

You always get so upset when you have to kill a human, even if they're a horrible excuse for one.

“You'll get blood on you.” Grantaire repeats instead, but hesitantly moves a step closer.

Enjolras only sighs in response, before wrapping a hand around the back of Grantaire's neck and pulling his head forward.

“Thank you.” Enjolras repeats gently and kisses Grantaire's forehead.

It isn't exactly an act of forgiveness, because Enjolras doesn't think Grantaire has done anything that needs to be forgiven. Grantaire doesn't think he's done anything wrong either, but he's done something he knows Enjolras would feel bad about doing, for Enjolras. Grantaire isn't really sure what it is he needs, but whatever this is, it seems to be more than enough. The tension evaporates completely from his body, leaving him feeling oddly light.

Benediction, Grantaire thinks, as Enjolras pulls away.

Enjolras leans down and presses their foreheads together for a brief moment, before letting go of Grantaire. If Grantaire lingers there in his space a moment longer than necessary before moving back - well, Enjolras is kind enough to pretend he doesn't to notice.

“Baho – Martin?” Grantaire asks, looking over Enjolras' shoulder.

“If I say I might be slightly traumatized, will you pay for the psychologist? That was really...There's a lot of blood.” Bahorel says. He seems to be very carefully keeping his eyes away from the body. “Are you okay? You were down for a while there, and I think the blood on your leg is your own.”

“I'm okay. The bullet just grazed me, it won't take long to heal. I only went down to get the knife.”

“You know, usually I would ask about the knife, but there's clearly a very good reason you're carrying it.” Bahorel says and seems to gather courage enough to glance at the body. “What are we doing with – with him?”

“We'll leave him.” Enjolras says. “Whoever he works for will send someone else when he doesn't report back. They won't involve the police; They can't afford something like this getting out, it would hurt their reputation. Your uncle might loose them as clients, though.”

“I don't think he would want this kind of clientele anyway.” Bahorel shrugs. “Should we be worried about whoever is send to check up on this?”

“Hopefully they'll decide it's too much trouble after this.” Enjolras says, although not sounding very convinced.

“He seemed very keen on getting the mirror though.” Bahorel says.

“It's very possible that they don't have another replacement.” Grantaire suggests. “Which would be awesome. Then we know that they won't just go stab people somewhere else.”

“It also means there's a bigger chance they'll come looking for us.” Enjolras says.

“You don't think they'll decide it's more trouble than it's worth after this?” Grantaire asks. “We've involved the police as well, and they won't know how to deal with that. Nobody ever involves the police. It was a brilliant idea.”

“Perhaps.” Enjolras agrees thoughtfully. “...But maybe we could make it more obvious for them.”

“What?” Bahorel asks.

“That there'll only be more trouble for them if they continue.” Enjolras says, looking to Grantaire. “Do you remember the signs the vampires used in Hungary?” Enjolras asks

“...Yes?” Grantaire says. Vampires were territorial, but the vampires of Hungary had taken it to a rather old fashioned extreme of claiming whole areas as their own, like feudal lords. They'd developed a series of signs they'd leave to mark out their territory and to communicate without having to actually come anywhere near each other. 

“But Enjolras, that's half a world away and decades ago. Even if they still use them in Hungary I doubt anyone would recognize it here.”

“If we draw one on him, they'll look it up. I'm sure they have the resources.”

“We're claiming the city now?” Grantaire asks doubtfully. It had only ever been used in the country; that kind of carving up of territory never worked out in big cities. Grantaire nonetheless sits down next to the body and pokes his fingers into the pool of blood with a grimace, ready to draw.

“No.” Enjolras says, crouchng down next to Grantaire. “I want a warning that they've trespassed.”

Grantaire flexes his blood soaked fingers slightly, thinking. “The cease-and-desist one?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire nods and starts drawing on an otherwise clean area of the man's shirt.

“Cease and desist?” Bahorel asks behind them.

“He's not staking a claim on any new territory, he's warning them off of something that's already his.” Grantaire says.

“A warning that they've encroached on something that was mine, and if they do it again I will take action against them.” Enjolras says.

Bahorel makes a thoughtful noise. “So you're not claiming the city as yours.” He muses. “You're really claiming us.”

***

“...You're not property. I don't mean it like that, it's a only a way to warn them off, in a way they would understand. You're not _mine_ – only as far as your mine to protect. That's all.” Enjolras tells all of them, where they're tightly packed together in Combeferre and Jehan's living room.

Bahorel hadn't meant it as any kind of criticism - he was amused if anything, which he'd hurried to reassure Enjolras of as soon as it was apparent his words had been taking in any other way. But Enjolras has had centuries to develop issues with the idea of owning someone, so when they'd gotten home to find everybody already gathered and asking what happened – _Grantaire, is that your blood?_ \- Enjolras couldn't help apologizing as soon as they reached that part of the story.

“I think they get it. Anybody who doesn't think Apollo is beyond approach? - Raise your hand please...See, you can stop.” Grantaire says. “Now, does anybody with medical training want to look at my leg?” He adds, which very effectively gives Enjolras something else to fret about.

They had judged his borrowed t-shirt as a lost cause, and ripped it up to use the unstained back as makeshift bandages. Joly seems less than impressed with this solution and tuts disapprovingly with Combeferre over the wound while cleaning it up.

“I think,” Jehan says, appearing from behind and digging his fingers into Grantaire's shoulders. “that _somebody_ promised me you wouldn't get shot again.”

“I'm pretty sure that would be Enjolras.” Grantaire says, and only feels a little guilty when Jehan sets upon Enjolras instead.

Once released from Joly's tender medical care, someone – Combeferre – is crazy enough to let Grantaire borrow some clothes despite his track record, and after plastic bagging his new bandage, Grantaire is allowed to go take a shower. They'd already tried washing off the worst of the blood before going out into the public, but there are some things you just can't get rid off with the miniscule facilities in an employees bathroom.

It's a great relief to finally get all of the blood washed off. It's never really great to be covered in blood, but it's somehow worse when it's not your own. If it's your own you at least know where it's been, so to speak. In a way you're wearing something that was already a part of your body, even if it's usually kept beneath the skin rather than on top of it. 

This is probably not a line of thought anybody else would appreciate should he mention it, Grantaire muses as he steps out of the shower. He dries himself off and puts on the borrowed clothes before studying himself in the mirror. He doesn't look that bad he thinks, a little tired perhaps, but not like he's been shot for the second time in only a few days. He needs a shave though.

Grantaire steps closer to the mirror and is studying his stubble when Enjolras squeezes into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

“I know you don't categorize our friends as other people, but I really think you should try maintaining some of the 'regular human' boundaries around them.” Grantaire says. “Like leaving me alone in the bathroom. They'll find that weird.”

Enjolras only shakes his head absently, dismissing that without further thought. “We should leave.” he says.

Grantaire goes still. He catches Enjolras' eyes in the mirror before looking away.

“I don't think anybody else has much more room for us than Combeferre and Joly does.” Grantaire says, pretending not to understand.

“Leave the city.” _Leave them_.

“That's not going to make them any safer.” Grantaire says, turning around to look directly at him.

“Won't it?” Enjolras counters. “If the merchants decides to come after the mirror, they will be looking for a vampire.”

“We can't leave them. You just left a statement that they're under you're protection. You can't protect them if you're _not here_.”

“We'll stay close enough to come back if anything happens. But if anybody comes, they should go after me first.”

“You can't know that.” Grantaire hisses. “It's doubtful they'll even do anything. We can't leave them for that, just because you're feeling overprotective.”

“We'll come back.” Enjolas says soothingly, stepping closer. “It's just long enough so we can be sure there aren't any repercussions.” 

“We just found them! We just found them, and you've -” _You've been the happiest I've seen you in centuries. If we leave them it'll break your heart._ “You're being overprotective and self sacrificing. It's a tiny risk, Enjolras. If they remembered they'd all smack you for even suggesting this. They'll rather take a tiny risk to have you here than us going anywhere.”

“But they _don't remember_.” Enjolras says, nearly raising his voice. “They like us, but they don't know us. There's nothing... Right now they won't feel any compelling need for us to stay. We can't ask them to take the risk for something they don't remember.”

“There's Jehan.” Grantaire says.

“There's Jehan.” Enjolras agrees. “And we'll keep in touch and we'll come back – we'll come back, Grantaire – but for now we should leave with the mirror in case anything comes after us.”

“If we stay, there's no reason we couldn't...”

“If I ask you to,” Enjolras interrupts. ”will you go?”

It's like being punched in the gut. 

Grantaire will do anything for Enjolras, has promised himself he will do anything he asks, and Enjolras _knows that_. He knows that Grantaire will go if he explicitly asks him to, knows that it is almost as certain as ordering him to go – except that with orders it's Grantaire's body that cannot help obeying, whereas here it's Grantaire's own mental hangups that leads him to comply. 

It's enough leeway that Enjolras will ask – he'll never order, but he will ask – because when he asks Grantaire can say no, has said no before when Enjolras is being stupid and is endangering himself. And normally Grantaire likes being asked, likes proof that he's useful, but right now it sits like a rancid taste in the back of his mouth and his stomach is churning. 

He could say no. He could, and a large part of him wants to, but he won't. They both know that.

“You fucking _asshole_!” Grantaire yells, because answering yes is unnecessary and pushes past Enjolras. 

It's conspicuously quiet in the living room and everybody is very carefully not looking at him, which probably means they heard the insult. Maybe more, Grantaire thinks, spotting Bossuet whispering to Joly and Bahorel. It seems Marius has been taking advantage of his super hearing as well, because he starts moving toward Grantaire with a concerned expression.

Granaire turns in the other direction, and quickly chooses Cosette and Jehan in the couch as his targets. Jehan, yes. If Grantaire tells him, he can try and convince Enjolras.

Jehan stands up as Grantaire draws near. Grantaire more or less throws himself into his chest, ignoring the coffee table awkwardly caught between their legs.

“Oopf. Oh dear.” Jehan breathes out in surprise on impact, but still hugs Grantaire back. “What's the matter, sweetheart?”

“Enjolras is being a self-sacrificing asshole.” Grantaire mutters into Jehan's shoulder.

“Maybe you should sit down on the couch.” Cosette says and Grantaire feels her small hand rest lightly on his shoulder. “This can't be good for your leg.”

Grantaire reluctantly separates from Jehan, feeling everybody's gazes burning into his back. Cosette gives a small shake of her head to someone behind him, before looking up at him with a soft smile. She's holding the wrapped up mirror in her hand. Must have forgotten to put it down when she got up.

“Can I borrow this?” Grantaire asks, reaching out for the mirror.

“Of course.” Cosette says and lets him take it out of her hand.

“Thank you. I need to try something.” Grantaire says.

Grantaire puts his hand on Jehan's shoulder and uses it as leverage as he steps up onto the coffee table. His leg only stings a little at the moment, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't take all the help he can get. Once he's up everybody is definitely staring at him. Mostly with confusion, although he thinks he sees realization beginning to form in Cosette's eyes, right before he pulls the scarf off the mirror.

It throbs in his hand and everyone except Enjolras and Jehan freezes.

Jehan's mouth is open and he's still looking at Grantaire with confusion, but Enjolras has already caught on as is moving toward him.

“Grantaire! -” he begins, and Grantaire throws the mirror to the ground before Enjolras can ask him to stop.

Grantaire recognizes the odd muted crash the mirror makes as it breaks and the following backlash of magic. They have a few seconds if he remembers correctly.

“Pick one.” Grantaire says. Using Jehan's shoulder again as he jumps down the table. There's a sharp jolt of pain as his legs impacts on the ground. Grantaire ignores it, moving to Cosette's side and getting a hold of her arms.

“What?” Enjolras asks, at the same time as Jehan – who clearly remembers this part too - jumps forward to get a hold on Courfeyrac.

They start collapsing before Grantaire can explain. He takes Cosette's weight when her legs give out and carefully lowers her to the ground. Jehan does the same for Courfeyrac, although he seems to be struggling a little more under the weight. Enjolras manages to grab both Combeferre and Feuilly in time to slow their descend. Werewolves seems to have an advantage here, because both Marius and Bossuet stay upright on their own - although only for a short while in Bossuet's case, since Bahorel collapses into him, making both of them fall against a bookcase and then slide to the ground.

Cosette shudders under Grantaire's hands and whimpers, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Grantaire carefully brushes some hair out of her face, apologizing quietly under his breath. He'd forgotten just how pained Jehan had looked when it happened to him.

“Maria, Cosette, Mademe la Baronne.” He lists in a soothing tone of voice. “It's okay, I promise. The worst will pass soon, and then you can take it out on me if you want.” He says, and lightly brushes her cheek.

Her eyelids flutters a couple of times before finally opening all the way. She looks at him briefly, unseeing, before they close again.

“Marius.” she whimpers.

Grantaire looks over at Marius, who's still standing on his own, albeit his legs are looking a little shaky. His eyes are open, staring uncomprehending ahead, while one of his hands clutch at his collarbone.

Grantaire gathers Cosette in his arms and lifts her, carrying her the few steps to Marius and gently setting her down in front of him.

“Pontmercy.” Grantaire calls softly. He carefully detaches Marius' hand from his collarbone and places Cosette's hand in it instead. “Cosette's here.”

Marius eyes drop down at the contact and focuses on Cosette. He gasps as a shudder goes through him and drops to his knees, pulling Cosette into his arms. She makes a small relieved noise and clutches desperately back at him, murmuring his name again.

Grantaire turns to look over the rest of them. Jehan is kneeling in front of Courfeyrac, craddling his face between both his hands and talking soothingly to him. Enjolras has one hand on Feuilly's shoulder, keeping him sitting upright, while looking at Combeferre with wide eyes – Combeferre who is awake and whispering something to him, warm affecting clear despite his otherwise dazed expression. Bossuet is sitting up on his own, one hand clutched between both of Bahorel's, who's on his back, staring at the ceiling and seems to be chuckling groggily to himself. Not far from them Joly is curled up tightly on his side, shaking slightly. Bossuet catches Grantaire's eyes for a moment, smiles tiredly at him, before turning to Joly. He reaches out with his free hand and wraps it around Joly's ankle, calling his name – both of them.

Grantaire is about to go to them when Enjolras looks up. He doesn't smile at Grantaire – he can't right now, can't approve of Grantaire doing this without their consent – but it's shining out of him anyway. Happiness burning beneath his skin with so much power that it's bursting out of him, even as he struggles not to smile.

Grantaire looks around at his friends waking up, recognition on their faces, warmth in their eyes. He looks at Enjolras lit up like a sun in middle of it, and he doesn't regret _anything_.

 

 

 

 

( **Epilogue** )

“We're just going to open them?” Marius asks, for the second time that day.

“Yes.” Enjolras says “We've already established that none of the books that Grantaire stole mentions anything about bottled souls, and we can't just let them stay in there any longer without trying _something_.”

“None of the books Grantaire stole which we can read.” Combeferre points out. “There might be something in the ones we can't read - but it would be cruel if we had to wait until we found someone to translate all of them.”

“Why is it 'the books _Grantaire_ stole'?” Grantaire asks. “I was not the only one there, you know.”

“Yeah, I should be included in that. I carried one of the boxes.” Bahorel says.

“The books that Grantaire, Enjolras and Bahorel stole.” Combeferre corrects.

“It's just that we can't be sure it's actually souls in there. What if it is something dangerous?” Marius says. “I've had enough chemistry to know that you should be weary of unlabeled substances in glass bottles.” 

“That's a thought; you should wear safety goggles.” Feuilly says. 

“I have three pairs at home I could get for you.” Joly says. “And gloves.”

“It's really going to ruin the ambiance of the moment if we're dressed like mad scientist while we do this.” Jehan says.

Bossuet clucks disapprovingly and puts on a theatrically stern expression. “It's safety before romantic notions, Prouvaire.”

“Not with magic. Symbolism is everything here.” Jehan says.

“I still cannot believe you let him have the book about blood magic.” Grantaire mutters to Enjolras, who's too amused by the others' antics to do anything but absently shrug in reply.

“Would another kind of scientist be more acceptable?” Courfeyrac asks Jehan. “Crazy scientist? Evil scientists? Outrageously good-looking scientists?”

“Secretly crime-fighting scientists?” Feuilly suggests.

“Oooh, good one.” 

“Boys.” Cosette says, quieting them all with her warm yet firm tone of voice, which Grantaire assumes was perfected after successfully raising four kids. 

“You worry too much, dear. We'll be fine.” She says and kisses Marius' temple – who obligingly leans down so she can reach easily. “Now go sit down. We have bottles to open.”

Marius obediently takes a seat on the bench next to Enjolras. Grantaire reaches up to pat him reassuringly on the knee.

“What about I count to three?” Bahorel suggests. Cosette, Courfeyrac and Jehan all nod in agreement.

“If we really are concerned about safety, maybe you should do it one at a time instead of all at once?” Combeferre says.

Courfeyrac shushes him.

“The ambiance, Combeferre. You'll ruin the ambiance.” Bossuet stage whispers.

Bahorel counts to three, and they all open their bottle at the some time. As soon as the plugs clear the opening, the silver substance disappears. It simply vanishes in front of their eyes, leaving behind empty air, as if there was nothing there to begin with.

Nothing tangible at least.

“I was...expecting something more than that.” Joly admits.

“A bit anticlimactic.” Bahorel agrees.

“I think it means it worked.” Grantaire says carefully. “They've gone wherever they're supposed to go.”

“Good.” Enjolras says.

They share a moment of quiet relief, looking at the empty bottles and the setting sun above the playground, painting everything in pink.

“Should we go get something to eat then?” Courfeyrac suggests after a while. There's a general murmur of agreement from everyone.


End file.
